


All Honor's Mimic, All Wealth Alchemy

by consciousness_streaming



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Anal Fingering, Bisexuality, Blow Jobs, Eventual Sex, Facials, First Time Blow Jobs, Friends to Lovers, I'll add more tags if I forget something, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Rimming, Safeword Use, Scott and derek are brothers, That Is Resolved, Vibrators, Zack and Miri Make a Porno AU, a lot of it, talk of bisexual erasure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:27:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 62,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21652258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/consciousness_streaming/pseuds/consciousness_streaming
Summary: Stiles lives with Derek and Scott in off-campus housing and they are POOR. Stiles is tired of selling blood, working two jobs, and going to school full time. And still he only has $4 to his name. What's a guy to do when all he has is a video camera and a hot friend?'“Porn,” he says, the word popping out of his mouth the moment the thought crosses his mind and he knows. He knows this is the idea. This is the solution and it’s been staring him in the face, it’s been lurking in his browsing history like yes, I am the answer. And Stiles, like a fool, almost missed it.'This fic is complete and being updated MWFs
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 236
Kudos: 1260





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from John Donne's "The Sun Rising"
> 
> I've been working on this since July 2018. It got way longer than I anticipated. I hope you like it ;)
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at RachelScoops

It begins where many terrible ideas begin—the wrong end of a long stretch of desperation. Stiles thought he had been desperate before. He thought he knew all the ways it could bring you embarrassment. Once you buy a girl who doesn’t know you exist twelve birthday presents, you think you’ve hit the bottom of desperate. Still, Stiles hasn’t been on this level before, $4 in his bank account broke level of desperate.

Stiles stares down at the notification from his bank that his account has gone below $30 and laughs humorlessly. Yeah, he fucking knows, thanks phone. He has to eat and that loaf of bread and sandwich meat is going to keep him fed for at least a couple of days if he only puts one piece of meat in his sandwich. He brings up the calendar on his phone hoping it’ll say something different than the last three times he’s looked. Nope, still eight days to go until pay day, though that’s not going to be the end solution to his troubles, just keep him in the game a little longer. One would think with two part time jobs, he’d be able to afford his lifestyle in Los Angeles. Even with his two roommates he’s struggling.

It’s not like Scott and Derek are doing much better. He looks up from his phone to see Scott lost in a Fortnite spiral and he concedes that if anyone looked in right now, they’d think he’s a typical college student and that he probably plays video games all the time and barely makes it to class. They would be totally wrong and maybe Stiles could make a quick ten bucks betting against them. 

Scott’s going to UCLA to be a veterinarian, the only thing he’s ever wanted to do. Stiles remembers Kindergarten dress up career day when Scott dressed as a veterinarian who treated elephants and didn’t judge when Stiles was half cop, half Superman, and half circus juggler. No one explained fractions to him until 5th grade.

Vet school keeps its students extraordinarily busy—he has labs, hours of reading, volunteer hours at the humane society, and he shadows a local vet three nights a week all with the knowledge that there are thirty kids looking to take his spot if he can’t keep it all going. Vet school is way more competitive than people know and Scott’s acceptance came with years of hard work and a three page long letter from the local Beacon Hills vet, Dr. Deaton, who seems to have more clout than they ever realized in the crazy vet community. No, really, Stiles has seen people whisper his name with reverence when they mention they know him. Reverence.

Somehow in all that, Scott manages to get some hours at the local grocery store to put up his portion of rent and gets to take home some of the food that’s about to pass it’s expiration date. It’s a good deal, all around.

Derek, on a similar note, studies too much and works too much. Grad school, Stiles decides while watching Derek sit on the couch, typing furiously into the laptop on the coffee table, is a special brand of hell. The worst part is that you bring it upon yourself. You pay them to go through this hell and they give you a piece of paper at the end and then turn around and ask you to pay them as an alumnus.

Watching Derek flounder through grad school is enough to put Stiles off of it. Maybe after he’s been in the world a couple years after graduation. No amount of money would lead him to force grad school on himself. 

Maybe it’s just the course Derek’s chosen, Stiles thinks. Maybe other grad school courses don’t force their students to leave 17th century Spanish poems all over the goddamn apartment, and don’t cause borderline successful adult people to leave random undergrad half-marked essays on the tank of the toilet like that time Derek got so angry at a student’s essay that he left it there with just a frowny face. Maybe like, business grad school courses are easier and everybody just circle jerks while they talk about how much money they’re going to make exploiting the poor and minorities. 

Regardless, Stiles doesn’t want to touch grad school with a thirty-seven foot pole if he’d have to put himself through what Derek does—classes where he learns, classes where he fucking teaches (how is that in any way fair), office hours for ungrateful undergrads he doesn’t want to be teaching anyway who flock to his office to stare and giggle at him like he’s some kind of zoo animal. Stiles witnessed this once on a rare Tuesday his Econ class was canceled and Derek requested he bring him the lunch he left at home. He thought one particularly aggressive looking freshman was going to gut him when he skipped the line to hand Derek his lunch.

On top of all that, in the spare time he has between classes, Derek has to write a fucking thesis. Derek swears it could be worse. Apparently doctoral theses are a thousand times more headache-inducing. 

Stiles will take his video editing classes, two part time jobs at the library and the Starbucks off campus and he will not be in charge of other people’s grades. Before he went into the thesis zone earlier, Derek showed him an email one student wrote to him trying to get a higher grade where she offered to let him “do anything” to her and somehow managed to imply anal. Stiles laughed his ass off, Scott cringed in sympathy, and Derek made the long-suffering face that he usually only pulls out for Stiles.

They work themselves to the fucking bone and all they have to their names right now is the $4 in Stiles’ bank account, the borrowed Switch that Scott conned away from Isaac for the weekend, and an email promising “forbidden treasures” if Derek turns away from his principles. What gives?

Stiles is tired of being fucking broke.

He’s tired of scrounging up five quarters and still not being able to eat anything at McDonald’s anymore. He’s tired of mentally calculating how many meals one jar of peanut butter is going to last him. He’s tired of lying through his teeth on the phone to his dad, who has more than enough financial troubles of his own after the last heart attack. He’s terrified of stressing his dad to the point of another heart attack, so he lives in squalor in a half-liveable apartment they rent from Finstock who refuses to fix the broken bathroom door and the loose live wire that Stiles pejoratively calls the death wire above the refrigerator that once shocked him so badly when he touched it for a micro second that he almost had to go the emergency room before he remembered he can’t afford it without health insurance.

His life is actively trying to kill him. He needs money and he has no time.

All he has is his borrowed video camera, some semi-professional editing software, and a lot of nerve.

“Porn,” he says, the word popping out of his mouth the moment the thought crosses his mind and he knows. He knows this is the idea. This is the solution and it’s been staring him in the face, it’s been lurking in his browsing history like yes, I am the answer. And Stiles, like a fool, almost missed it. 

He looks to Scott, his crooked jaw tensed in concentration, and shudders. Nope, not Scott. They’re more brothers than Scott is with his actual brother.

Speaking of... Stiles turns to look at Derek, his back bent at an unnatural angle over the coffee table. There are no other spaces in the apartment to work. There’s no room for a kitchen table, and they’re already squeezing three people into two bedrooms by taking turns sleeping on the couch in a strictly enforced rota that the only exception to is if sex is imminently about to happen.

Derek, though. Derek.

His green eyes are lit up by the computer and he doesn’t glance at his hands as he types. He’s wearing the nerd glasses that he only wears around the apartment. Stiles moves his gaze down to Derek’s arms, the bit of his forearms he can see and smiles approvingly. Derek had a very truly horrendously awkward phase somewhere in early high school before he settled into the hunk that the college girls agree he is.

It’s not something Stiles thinks about, but Derek’s kind of beautiful. It’s probably what people who haven’t smelled his night farts think about when they first meet him, his like perfect face and broad shoulder to tiny waist ratio. Stiles made the mistake of sharing a bed with Derek when their families went camping when he was in the seventh grade and Scott got poison ivy and couldn’t share with Stiles and wow the baked beans must have disagreed with Derek’s digestion because Stiles had never before missed sleep due to gas and hopefully never will again. 

He tries to take their personal history out of it. He forgets the night farts, the many times Derek beat him wrestling growing up when Scott wouldn’t play anymore, the taunting over Stiles’ massive Lydia crush that (rightly) was never going to happen, the post midnight game show marathons the summer his mother died and his father fell into his cups and Stiles wanted to be anywhere but home and Scott took the day shift and Derek took the night shift to keep him company and not alone.

He tilts his head, staring down at Derek’s hairy feet and trying not to remember when he started to get body hair and cried when Stiles told him he was turning into a hobbit. He doesn’t think about the genuine pride in Derek’s eyes when Stiles told him he got into UCLA and the framed picture of Stiles and his mom he found in wrapped in Iron Man wrapping paper in his room later that day. He doesn’t think of the dark times their family endured with Derek’s dad, he tries to let that fade away. 

With all that out of the equation, Stiles can see that Derek is objectively, majorly, hot.

“Porn” he says again, louder this time and starting to let the idea get bigger in his head. He knows this is going to work, can feel it in his bones. It’s the same flavor idea of going to UCLA, of making friends with Scott in the sandbox, of deciding to live with Derek and Scott for Sophomore year because at least they’re used to each others’ shit.

This time Scott at least seems to have heard. “What did you say about porn, Stiles?”

Stiles stands up, and this finally gets Derek’s attention as they are sharing the lopsided couch. His fingers stop moving and he looks up at Stiles even as his glasses slide down his nose.

“Porn,” he says for a third time, waiting to see them get it. Stiles is used to his mind making weird jumps and he’s also used to these two following along.

“Stiles,” Derek says and it’s a plea and a curse all at once. Nobody says Stiles’ name like Derek does. This time, however, he’s clearly asking for a fucking explanation.

“I have the solution,” Stiles can’t sit still so he starts moving around the room, the other two so used to this that they just casually track him with their eyes, Scott’s character dies on the screen and he barely flinches.

“The solution to what,” Scott frowns, throwing the controller to the floor next to him and lifting a leg to bring his arm around his knee and his attention to Stiles.

“The solution to our money issues,” Stiles says, “aren’t you tired of working so hard and having literally no money? Think about it, the last time we had enough money for even a six pack of beer was like two months ago.”

“Midterms,” Derek says immediately, and Stiles squints at him until very well repressed memories of “celebrating” midterms start to resurface and Stiles shakes his head, pushing them back down.

“Two months ago,” he tells Derek with a look.

“Yeah, Derek,” Scott says, his lips curled into a smirk, “definitely not last week when Stiles got so drunk after Harris’ Econ midterm that he puked on your shoes.”

“You didn’t have to clean the puke up,” Derek shudders. 

“You’re one to talk, Night Farts,” Stiles hisses. “Now stop bringing me down when I’m about to save us.”

Derek does smile now, “from you?”

“From fucking poverty, you idiot!”

“Poverty is a strong word for it,” Scott says, bringing his other leg up to meet the first one until he’s basically hugging his legs. Scott’s such a nice person that he literally will hug anything. Even himself. Stiles pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Trying my patience,” he mumbles to the ceiling.

“Where does the porn come in?” Derek asks, his eyes drifting back to the laptop screen like he’s waiting for Stiles to make his point so he can keep working and that right fucking there is their problem. He spent hours helping Derek apply for a copy writing position with the Los Angeles Times last week, and they didn’t hear a peep back. They spin their wheels and spin their wheels and get nowhere fast.

“See, that’s our problem,” he whines, jabbing a finger at Derek’s computer, “all we ever do is work. I haven’t talked to you in like three days and we’re having a conversation and you’re already trying to get back to working.”

“We have bills, Stiles,” Derek explains slowly. “They’re things that you have to pay to use, like water.”

“I know we have fucking bills!”

“Do you?” Scott asks, “because I paid the electricity bill last and you lazy fuckers haven’t given me anything for it.”

“I’ll see your electricity and raise you the gas bill,” Stiles argues, “and it’s winter so it’s higher than normal.”

“This is Los Angeles,” Derek points out, “it’s never cold here so your argument is invalid.”

Stiles struggles to come up with an answer, cursing Derek for choosing his brother over Stiles.

“Do you want to hear my idea or do you want to keep working and not making enough money to live off of?”

Neither Derek nor Scott say anything and Stiles knows only the Hale pride is keeping them from asking. Luckily, he’s been living in Hale pockets since he was born.

“Porn,” Stiles says reverently, and he thinks this must be what Moses felt like when he came down from Mt. Sinai with the Ten Commandments. 

There’s a living pause in the room. Stiles watches Derek and Scott look at each other then back at him.

“What the fuck?” says Scott and Stiles sighs. He has to make them get it.

“Look, what are the resources we have?” he asks the room and neither of them reply so he just carries on like it was supposed to be a rhetorical question. He raises his hands and counts off on his fingers, “We have the three of us, this apartment, my video camera,” he says hoping they’ll catch on and start getting on board with the idea.

And they will get on board. They’ve never not gotten on board. Not matter how genuinely terrible the idea is—TP-ing the principal’s office, hacking into his dad’s police data base to get the number of the boy Derek had a crush on and then never called anyway, starting a win-over-Deaton campaign to help Scott weasel into a job at the vet clinic.

“If we do a little home-made porn, then we can make some good cash with very little effort. We’re over eighteen, mildly attractive. I mean, I think I’ve grown into my shoulders a bit.”

“Stop fishing,” Derek says just as Scott chimes in with, “You’re totally beautiful, dude,” like the good bro that he is.

“I’m not fishing,” he insists and throws a thankful smile at Scott. “I’ve got to do a little research on the best way to get people to pay for it. But my biggest problem with free porn is that it’s always low quality and horribly edited and usually the people aren’t that hot.”

“Are you now trying to call yourself hot?” Derek asks with a brow raised, “because that sounds like more fishing.”

“No,” Stiles shoots back, “I’m calling you hot because dude, c’mon, you know you look like an underwear model and you’re hotter than every guy in porn these days.”

Derek blinks owlishly back at him, clearly not expecting his insult to be met with a sincere compliment, even if it was sort of yelled at him. Derek doesn’t do compliments well, especially about his appearance. 

“Stop floundering, you look less hot with your mouth gaping like that,” Stiles says and then turns the knife and says with glee, “unless you want me to put something in it?”

Derek’s face turns hard and he glares at Stiles. “We’re not doing porn. I’m not doing porn.” He tries to turn back to his computer like this is the end of the conversation. It’s like he hasn’t known Stiles for nineteen years. 

“I think you guys should do porn,” Scott pipes up, helpfully.

Stiles paces over to Scott and pats him on the head, “Aw thanks, bro.”

“I wouldn’t have to like watch it or do anything to help, though, would I?”

“I think the therapy bills would be too expensive even for Derek’s magnificent ass to cover, so no, you just have to clear out of the apartment when we’re filming and let us use the big bedroom.”

Scott nods, accepting the terms. The loss of the big bedroom is a blow, but Stiles is sure that’s an acceptable compromise to never having to see his brother and his best friend going at it.

“I’m not doing it,” Derek says again, but he also said those exact same words and in the exact same tone before they broke into the police station and he played look out while Stiles logged into his dad’s account for the phone number of that guy who ended up being a dick anyway.

“Why not?”

“I can’t be in porn, Stiles,” he says derisively, “I’m in grad school. What if people find it later and I lose jobs because of it?”

“Then they have to explain how they know you did gay porn,” Stiles points to himself, “I’m not planning on telling anybody, and Scott’s not going to tell anybody.” Scott nods with his serious face on. “So the only way it will get out is if someone watches the gay porn and, hey, it’s not like you aren’t out everywhere. I mean, they all know you’re gay.”

“Bisexual, Stiles, c’mon. How many times do I have to tell you?”

Stiles rolls his eyes, “Your bisexuality is valid and all, but you haven’t been with a chick since high school and all you’re doing is stringing along all these girls who think they have a chance with you.”

“I don’t need your permission to be bi,” Derek says, “And how are you even going to do this since you’re straight?” He looks at Stiles like he’s scrutinizing him. Derek has a way of looking through him and seeing what Stiles is trying to hide from everybody else. It’s super annoying. They can’t even play poker together again after the 2012 episode.

“I mean,” he continues, “you’re planning on it being you, right? You mentioned me being there and I can’t obviously have sex with Scott.”

“Praise the Lord,” Scott mumbles looking back and forth between Stiles and Derek like this is the most entertainment he’ll see this week.

“Dude, I’m a teenage twink which I’ve come to accept about myself and you know how horny I get. I can get hard at like the wind and that’s why I have to jerk it twice a day. Yeah, you’re right, I’m not into dudes but I can fake it.”

“There are so many loaded statements in there,” Derek sighs, pushing his glasses up his nose, “you should never have to fake it and if someone is paying good money to watch you have sex, then it should be very enthusiastic and good sex. No one wants to pay for mediocre sex where one of the parties isn’t into it.”

“So help me get into it,” Stiles suggests, “I can be fluid with my sexuality when the cameras are on, especially if that means I can quit one of my jobs.”

Derek stays quiet and Stiles turns to meet Scott’s eyes, Scott gives him a small smile and jerks his head to Derek and nods. Perfect, if Scott thinks Derek is going to give in then he’s definitely going to give in. Didn’t Stiles mention that they always get on board?

“I will do this on a trial basis,” Derek says a full two minutes later, “I have stipulations and if they are not met then not only are we never speaking about this again, but I get permanent use of the big bedroom, no rota, and the two of you don’t get to make fun of me when I grade papers. Family rules.”

Stiles meets Scott’s gaze again and at his nod, turns back to Derek. “What are your stipulations?”

“If we’re doing this strictly for money, then we draw up a contract about the sex stuff. You know, to make it more professional.”

“Like no spanking, that kind of thing?” Stiles asks.

“I’m fine with spanking,” Derek says nonchalant, “but yeah, we have a long and very truthful conversation about what we’re comfortable with.”

Scott mimes barfing in Stiles’ peripheral vision and Derek continues on, “because we have to live together after this and our families have been practically family for years so we’re going to have to see each other at birthdays and weddings and such until one of us dies, so if it gets awkward, it stays awkward for decades.”

“It’s only awkward if you make it awkward,” Stiles points out, seeing as this is basically his life motto as someone inherently awkward in literally every situation.

“That only gets you so far, Stiles,” Derek says, “imagine we’re literally recording ourselves have first time awkward sex and then on top of that I do something that makes you uncomfortable or hurts you and then you can never look at me again without seeing that.”

Stiles remembers an encounter freshman year with Julie who stuck a finger up his butt with no warning while they were the in middle of sex and kind of sees Derek’s point. With proper discussion, it could have been fun, but instead it threw him off guard and ruined the whole thing for him. He recalls being scared of butt stuff for a while until he saw a particularly kinky porn and after a drunkenly brave masturbation session, discovered his prostate at his own pace and entered a whole new level of self-pleasure.

Julie cost him eight months of next level self-pleasure and there’s no excuse for that.

“Okay,” Stiles agrees, “a very frank conversation without Scott and a physical copy of our agreement that we both sign. I’m not going to be the one to print it at the printing center, though. I’m calling dibs on that right now.”

“We’ll make Scott do it,” Derek says, “if we’re doing all the work, he has to pull his weight somewhere.”

“Hey,” Scott whines.

“He’s right this time, Scotty,” Stiles turns to him with an exaggerated frown, “you’re really getting the best part of this deal so you can shut up.”

Scott rolls his eyes, “fine, I’ll pick up the sex contract. But I’m not picking up cum rags or anything.”

“Oh my God,” Stiles gasps, “there’s a line and I would never make you cross that.”

“My other stipulation,” Derek says after Scott and Stiles complete their secret handshake, “is that I see the final product before it goes up and I get veto power on the video and also the website you choose.”

Stiles agrees to this easily. 

“Let’s talk time,” Stiles says.

“No.”

“No?” he asks with surprise.

“Let’s schedule a time to talk and give ourselves a couple of days to think about things. No hard feelings if either of us change our mind,” Derek uses his serious face and Stiles nods, allowing the out Derek gives him even though he knows he won’t be the one to use it.

“After your office hours on Tuesday,” Stiles suggests.

“Don’t you have your video class then,” Derek’s brow furrows.

“Canceled this week while we work on our projects.”

“Then shouldn’t you be working on your project,” Derek’s dad voice grates on Stiles’ nerves.

“I can handle my own classes, Dad.”

A blush tints Derek’s entire face, all the way to his ears. “No daddy kink. That goes in the contract.”

Stiles swallows the first fifteen things he wants to say. They all amount to !!!!!!!

“We can discuss that at our meeting on Tuesday, after your office hours, in the student cafe.” Stiles, very maturely, comments.

“We are not having a kink discussion in the student cafe,” Derek says, “my students might overhear. No, we’re having that discussion here and,” he looks over at Scott, “Scott will very conveniently be doing his reading somewhere else that day.”

“Sure, now can I get back to playing Fortnite? I only have until tomorrow before Isaac wants his Switch back.”

“Sure,” Stiles says, “we’re pretty much done here, now that we’ve all acknowledged that I’m a genius and saved us.”

Derek rolls his eyes, “wait until you see the video and it’s the worst porn you’ve ever seen and then we’ll talk. I wholeheartedly believe we’ll do this once and it’s the worst porn in the entire world and you realize what a terrible idea this is.”

Stiles throws a hand dramatically to his chest, “Baby, you think our sex is horrible?”

Derek looks dangerously over his computer at him, “Call me baby one more time.”

Stiles can’t resist, “I think you mean hit me baby, one more time. Spanking thing, huh?”

Derek fumes and eventually leaves to go to the library, even though it’s a ten minute walk.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so excited to share this with you guys so I'm updated today and tomorrow too :)

“He’s how hot?” Erica asks after Stiles finishes explaining the plan while they make drinks at the bar together as quickly as Isaac can rattle the orders off. He needed someone to talk to about all this, and for once it can’t be Scott. Erica, his next closest friend and video editing twin, got him the job at Starbucks and keeps him honest in ways that Scott gave up trying to decades of friendship ago.

“Burning,” Stiles admits, pulling his phone out to show her Derek’s rate my professor page with all the chili peppers.

Erica grabs the phone from him and squints at it. She moves the phone farther from her face and then up at a weird angle, like a scientist studying a new insect species. She looks back over at him and quirks her head like a dog.

“And _this guy_ agreed to have sex with _you_?”

Stiles grabs his phone back from her and shoves it in his pocket. “Yeah, I know. I can’t believe it either.”

“Why is it the two of you? Why didn’t you ask someone else to be the other party, like a girl or something?” Erica asks, accepting a cup with Isaac’s sloppy handwriting on it and lining up the espresso machine.

Stiles blinks and says the first thing that comes to mind, “he’s gay.” He hears the ghost of Derek past berate him and corrects himself, “Bi, whatever.”

“So no girl,” Erica nods like she’s putting everything into place in her mind. “But why you, then? No offense, you’re cute but you’re not on his level.”

Stiles puts the finishing touch on the latte he’s working on and screams out, “Vanilla Latte for Valerie,” and then turns back to the bar. “He’s got trust issues, keeps him from getting laid all the time. Can you imagine looking like that and still not getting it like every day? It’s a god damn tragedy.”

Erica doesn’t say anything, focusing on her drink and this is what Stiles both loves and hates about her. She refuses to give into his bullshit. She just doesn’t talk to him until he stops whatever thing he’s doing. She’s trained him like he’s some kind of overactive Pomeranian and he resents it but also can’t help giving into it because this job fucking sucks without someone to talk to all shift.

“Ugh, fine. You’re the absolute worst,” he hisses and wipes down the machine Erica just finished using. “Setting aside the fact that this was my idea and it’s not fair to ask someone else to do it when I won’t, I’ll be editing the thing and don’t want anyone seeing all that.”

“You’re okay with potentially thousands of people seeing you have sex with a man, something you’ve never done before and don’t profess to even get off on, but you don’t want someone else editing the thing?” Erica raises a perfectly arched eyebrow at him. “You realize that’s crazy, right?”

Stiles sighs, “of course I know that’s crazy. Half of my behavior is crazy, I’ve accepted that. At least when I’m putting my sex tape out there, it’s completely my product. They’re only going to see exactly what I’ve put out there for them to see.”

“So it’s a control thing,” Erica says, putting his feelings into one sentence that encapsulates everything.

“It’s part control thing and part, I dunno, looking after him in a way?”

“Explain,” Erica says, starting on a cappuccino.

“Okay, you can’t tell anyone about this. Not even Boyd. I’m not even going to tell you everything because it’s his business, but I want you to understand,” Stiles begins, trying to figure out the best way to put years of upheaval and feelings into words. We can’t all be Ericas who hit right to the heart of matters. 

“When I say he has trust issues, I mean it.” Stiles grabs a box of tea bags and starts to fill up the glass jars on the counter next to him. “When we were growing up, he was four years older than me. I mean, he still is, obviously. But me and Scott really looked up to him and he looked out for us in ways we didn’t even understand. When I was in 6th grade, it came out that Derek’s dad was emotionally abusing him. Saying things like how bad his parents’ marriage had gotten was Derek’s fault and that if he were really his son, he’d be on the football team. When Derek tried out for the football team, he’d laugh at him when he didn’t make it. Fucked up shit like that, and his mom didn’t know and Derek wouldn’t let his dad get close to Scott to start in on him so he just took it all and didn’t tell anybody because he was scared that his dad would hit Scott or even me, because at the time I practically lived at the Hale house. My mom had died the summer before and my dad was still recovering and everything in my house reminded me of my mom and I never wanted to be there, so I was always at their house. 

“I never really liked Mr. Hale and to be honest, he wasn’t really around that much anyway so I didn’t even think about him very much. But it turns out that he was constantly playing head games and manipulating Derek, like, real gas lighting shit. Trying to blame the abuse on Derek and saying he earned it that he deserved it, that kind of thing. I don’t even know the extent of it, no one would ever tell me. But because of that, Derek doesn’t really trust many people. He finds it hard to make new friends, keeps them at arm’s length, and basically waits for them to disappoint him. It’s totally unhealthy and he knows it, he’s in therapy for it, but Scott and I got grandfathered into his trust, so yeah. He can’t have meaningless sex with a stranger let alone porn sex with a stranger and actually get off because he doesn’t trust them. So, ergo, it has to be me if it has to be him. And, look at that picture again, because it has to be him.”

Stiles takes a deep breath, it feels strange and terrifying to let that out to someone else. But it also feels really good, cathartic and shit. 

“Plus we’d have to give another person a cut of the money and really we can’t afford that. The entirety of the proceeds needs to go to the Hale-Stilinski foundation,” Stiles grabs another cup and starts on the white mocha, “For the children.”

“Will Derek even have a good time?” Erica asks after she’s had a moment to digest Stiles’ story and procure another cappuccino. “I mean like, does he even think you’re cute? Is he attracted to you?”

There’s a crises Stiles didn’t even know he needed to have. 

“Shit,” Stiles mutters and feels his heartbeat start to speed up. The breaths come faster and faster while Stiles imagines Derek trying to think about anything else other than him to get hard. That’s a huge blow to his self-esteem. Stiles can handle not everyone in the world finding him attractive, but somehow the thought of Derek trying to pretend hits him like a truck. That would be devastating and he doesn’t understand why.

“Stiles,” Erica says, sensing he’s about to spiral. “Deep breaths.”

Stiles nods at her, and successfully heads off the panic attack before it can hit him full force, “Thanks.”

“Subject change, I think,” she says and reminds Stiles why loves her. She’s more than just a ball buster. “I think Boyd is going to drop the ‘L’ word soon.”

“The ‘L’ word, huh,” Stiles says, appreciating the hell out of a subject change. He forces himself to smile until it feels natural, “he finally figured out what lesbians are?”

Erica hits him on the back of the head while she turns to Isaac to accept another drink order.

“Don’t know why I put up with you.”

  
“You’re late,” Derek growls impatiently, the moment Stiles swings the door open.

Stiles throws himself into the couch beside him like he can make up the five minutes he was late by moving quickly now. “Man, maybe we shouldn’t have decided to do this right after your office hours. I forgot you’re always in a bad mood afterward.”

“I was always going to be in a bad mood discussing this, so might as well already be in a bad mood so I don’t have to go through it twice.”

Stiles throws his back pack on the floor, “I think that sorta made sense? If you squint?”

Derek pulls up a notepad that already has three or four bullet points on it in his scrawl and Stiles groans. Of course he has everything written down. 

“Where do you want to start?” Derek asks, putting his glasses on.

“You’re not wearing the glasses for the porn,” Stiles says, jumping right in.

“Is that one of your hard ‘nos’?” Derek says and reminds Stiles that he loves Derek’s snark when it’s not directed at him.

“No,” Stiles concedes, “but just not for the first one. Maybe we’ll get into role play in later...episodes.”

“We’re just doing one on a trial basis, remember?”

Stiles nods, but in his mind he already knows this is going to be great and they’re going to make a lot of money doing this. So he’s already planning out the first “season” so to speak. That’s the problem with some of these porn creators—there’s no long term thinking. It’s one video that’s self-sufficient and no overarching plot. Stiles, the innovator that he is, has ideas after all the research he did in the library this morning. He has a vision.

“Sure, trial basis, I remember.”

Derek stares at him hard, likely knowing that Stiles is up to something and gaging how worth it it is to challenge him on it.

“So write down your hard nos and I’ll show you my list and then we’ll re-asses,” Derek throws the pad of paper at Stiles, flipped to the next page, and places a blue pen in his hand.

The pen immediately goes in Stiles’ mouth to chew while he thinks. Derek sighs quietly to his left and Stiles counts that as a win. He’s not taking the pen back after this.

He scribbles a couple things down—no choking, no pee or poop stuff, although he kinda hopes that’s a given but you never know, no blood play. What else?

“Is there like a list or something I can compare to? I’m about to have a panic attack that I missed something and then in the middle of everything you’ll suddenly take a shit on my chest and say it wasn’t in the contract and I’ll have to pretend to like it.”

Derek looks at Stiles in his classic _you’re a moron_ look. Stiles almost missed it. It’s like seeing a friend who had gone off to war and finally got to come home. He wants to throw it a welcome home party. Buy a pinata or something. 

“First of all, I’d never take a shit on you, Stiles, what the hell is wrong with you?”

Stiles holds up his hands, defensively, the pen now boasting teeth marks. “I’m not kink shaming, Derek.”

“That’s not my k—“ he cuts himself off and turns to bring out his laptop, “let’s just look up a BDSM checklist or something, there’s got to be something on the internet.”

Stiles looks solemnly at Derek, “The internet has never let me down.”

Sure enough, they find a hundreds long questionnaire that Derek makes both of them go through and mark yes, room for debate, and hard no.

Luckily their hard nos seem to line up pretty across the board. Stiles has a feeling he’s going to have a strange time remembering this conversation and that it’s going to stick with him forever. You don’t just forget your best friend’s turn ons. Is this conversation going to come back to haunt him at inappropriate times? All signs point to yes.

Derek keeps it together with the aplomb of a captain of a sinking ship—clearly trying to keep it together for the crew but freaking the fuck out as much as anyone else. Stiles is secretly glad that Derek isn’t as calm as he’s pretending to be. The waver in his voice when he says ‘anal gaping’ gives him away. They both put a no down for that one, by the way.

His stomach is starting to growl now. Stiles looks at the time on his phone, they’ve been at this for over an hour and his shift at Starbucks is about to start. Erica will have a lot of questions that he doesn’t know how, or desire, to answer.

“So I’ll type this up and email it to Scott so he can print it on his way home from the clinic,” Derek says to Stiles, stacking the used pieces of paper he tore dramatically from the pad, knowing that Stiles doesn’t have much time before he’s supposed to leave.

“And hey,” he reaches out and touches Stiles’ arm which Stiles is not expecting and suddenly has a bit of trouble breathing. That was a lot of conversation about sex preferences with someone he never thought he’d be having sex with—with someone who rarely, if ever, had sex with the gender Stiles preferred to have sex with, there’s not really a lot of overlap and therefore, not a lot of hetero dudebro discussions of sex had ever taken place. It’s a lot to take in. “You can back out at any time, just remember that Stiles.”

He scoffs, “I’m not going to back out, Derek. But I do have ideas about the scene for the first one.”

Derek’s face stays frozen for a beat longer and then he nods, smiling, “You’re the film maker.”

Stiles gets off the sofa and collects his backpack, sometimes the evening shift slows down and he can do some homework on his break. “I have to go, but I’ll outline it and let you tweak anything you need to tweak. It already works with the list.”

His eyes seem to almost twinkle and Derek nods. “I trust you.”

Stiles stares in awe for a moment, knowing that something passed between them in the course of this long conversation before he jerks his head to the door. “I really have to go, but Derek?”

Derek hums and Stiles realizes he hasn’t looked away from his eyes—that sparkle is hypnotizing him. That’s a thing right? He’s seen Derek do it to other people before, but never to him.

“I trust you too.”


	3. Chapter 3

An hour later, Stiles finds himself up to his elbows in shit. The customer bathroom flooded, spilling water out into the dining area and scaring off the patrons. Erica worked some magic with the mop before he got there, but there’s only so much the mop could reach. Isaac’s working on the manager side of things while Stiles and Erica start cleaning up the mess as best as they can with disinfectant and elbow grease. Stiles wishes he had a clothespin to put over his nostrils like all those looney tunes cartoons and also he wants to die.

“This is why I can’t wait to put my sex tape out there with a hot guy and make loads of money,” Stiles mentions to Erica who has her hair up in the highest bun he’s ever seen, like she’s scared the ends of her brilliant blond hair are going to accidentally dip in the shit water. It could very well be a legitimate fear.

“Is it too late for me to get in on this?” Erica asks, sitting on her knees and scrubbing the floor like a modern day Cinderella.

“Gay porn pays better,” Stiles says, “also there’s the trust issue and the Stilinski-Hale foundation to consider.”

“Wouldn’t want to take money away from the children,” she says and Stiles looks at her and she looks at him and they both burst out into hysterical laughter. 

“Is this really what my life has come to,” Stiles wonders out loud, “cleaning other people’s literal shit?”

Erica smiles conspiratorially and wrinkles her nose.

“I just am so sick of living this way, Erica.” He really is—he hasn’t gotten a great night’s sleep since he was in high school. He’s constantly worrying about where they’re going to get the money for rent this month, how he’s going to eat the next day, are there going to be enough unsold pastries to take home after his shift? 

Not to mention how he’s always worrying about his dad. His heart isn’t what it used to be and Melissa can only do so much when they don’t even live together. She can’t watch every meal he eats like a son who lives at home.

“The other day I went to the student lounge just to look through the cushions and see if anyone had left change in there,” he admits.

“I buy clothes at Goodwill,” Erica says and Stiles rolls his eyes.

“Everyone buys clothes at Goodwill these days.”

She cuts him with her eyes, “and then I sell them for higher prices on facebook marketplace.”

Stiles chokes out a laugh. Shows what he knows, “That’s brilliant. You are so brilliant.”

Erica’s face turns uncharacteristically vulnerable and Stiles’ heart warms for her, “Don’t tell anyone about that.”

“You’re already keeping my porn story quiet,” Stiles reminds her, “I think mine is way more embarrassing.”

“You haven’t even technically done yours yet, though,” Erica points out.

“Good point and it reminds me,” Stiles says, “can I borrow your video camera for my porn? I’m determined to get all the best angles.”

“Yeah, sure, I just need it back as soon as you finish with it.” She shudders at the double entendre and Stiles barks out a laugh. “And if you leave your skinny ass anywhere on my memory card, I will not only watch the entire show but I will also post screenshots onto instagram.”

“Damn, Erica,” Stiles says, seeing Isaac come back in from talking with the general manager about getting someone out to fix the bathroom, “you drive a hard bargain.”

  


Because of their schedules and also because Stiles wants to get this done as soon as he can talk Derek into doing it, they have the scheduling conversation via one-on-one text. Which is rare for them to have their own conversation without Scott. The last two years or so, they’ve just used a group text to communicate, no matter how fleeting or in depth the conversation becomes and no matter between who. 

Stiles and Scott are the main two in the group chat, discussing video games they can’t afford and have no time to play, as well as the mysteriousness of Greenberg in the apartment below. Derek usually uses the group chat to ask Scott what they should get for Mother’s Day, Christmas, and for their mom’s birthday and Stiles is pretty sure he only uses the group chat so that Scott can fail and Stiles can come up with a perfect gift for them. They compromised and started putting Stiles’ name on the gift as well, so that eases the burn a bit.

Rarely do Stiles and Derek have conversations in the group chat. They just usually talk in person. Derek’s not really much of a texter to begin with.

So, with a self imposed deadline coming up, Stiles texts Derek when he knows he’s not in class.

_Hey, when do you want to do this thing?_

_And by thing i guess i mean me? Lol_

A few minutes go by and Stiles waits for his phone to vibrate with Derek’s reply while he takes the cart around to return books. He’s in the rarely visited section where he knows his boss isn’t going to come looking for him.

Stiles goes to put some grad student book back when he finally feels the phone vibrate against his thigh. He fishes his phone out of his pocket, nearly drops it twice, and sees that it’s been two minutes since he texted. God, it feels like an hour he’s been waiting on a response.

_If you have all the stuff, then whatever evening works for you. I’ll just grade papers around it._

He’s going to grade some papers, fuck a little bit and then go back to grading papers? Stiles doesn’t know if he feels worse for the papers from before or after. Depends on how the fucking goes, he supposes, mentally shrugging.

Stiles does some calculations. He has Friday nights off which he usually spends catching up on his homework or editing videos for his coursework. That will have to do until they make enough money to start quitting one of his jobs.

 _Friday?_ He sends back and Derek responds with a succinct _K_ and Stiles tries not to lose his shit because he knows Derek knows he hates that. 

He pockets the phone again, and pulls up the next book to return—something about molecules and organic chemistry. Boring.

As he places the book back on the shelf, the overwhelming notion that in two days’ time Stiles is going to have sex with _Derek Hale_ breaks over him. What has he gotten himself into? He can’t have sex with Derek. Derek has hairy arms and smelly night farts and occasionally a unibrow until he gets to his bimonthly threading appointment (groupon deals, only. They are not losing all their money to Derek’s vanity!).

Derek gave him wet willies until he was fourteen and only stopped because Stiles had to pretend to like it to make it not fun for Derek. Now he’s going to stick another appendage inside Stiles?

He drops the organic chemistry book and follows it to the ground, putting his back against the bookshelf and pulling his knees up to his chest, trying to remember to breathe. 

“Okay,” he says to the empty aisle, “worst case scenario—go.” In an effort to help with the grief over his mom and the panic attacks, his dad sent him to a therapist in one of his rare sober days in the immediate aftermath of his mother’s death. As much as he hated the therapy, he did learn a couple helpful techniques to assuage the anxiety when no one else he trusts is there to help.

Coming up with the worst case scenario helps him feel like even if it happens, he has a plan to follow should it come to pass. He always knows exactly what he would do if his plane goes down, if his dad has another heart attack (doesn’t stop him from worrying), if Scott’s asthma comes back (he still carries an inhaler and it’s been seven years since his last attack). He has a backup plan for his backup plan in case he flunks out of college and he has a 4.0 at the moment.

It’s almost soothing letting his brain travel down the path to worst case scenario, to revel in the doomsday. But it’s just a place to visit, not to live. He learned that the hard way.

So what’s the worst case scenario about doing porn with Derek? Three things immediately come to mind and Stiles isn’t sure which one is the worst right off the top of his head. 1) Derek is so bad at sex that the porn isn’t even good and they won’t be able to sell it and then he’s had bad sex with Derek for no reason and it ruins their relationship as well as his relationship with Scott because the three of them are so intertwined at this point that he can’t _not_ be effected and then Stiles loses his two closest friends and basically family at this point. 2) The sex is so good Stiles is a changed man and can never be with women again. At least his one he finds unlikely. 3) Derek can’t even get hard because Stiles is so hideous to him.

This point bothers him and he remembers the conversation he had with Erica about this very same thing. He was able to stave off thinking about it then by Erica drawing him into the love conversation about Boyd. But now, in ghost town aisle of the library, there’s plenty of time to consider this. How humiliating would that eventuality be for both of them? Mostly Stiles though. 

“What am I doing?” he asks himself, pulling out his phone. “This won’t be the weirdest thing I’ve ever asked.”

_Are you even going to be able to get it up for me? Sorry, this is my anxiety talking._

_Hi anxiety, I’m Derek,_ he texts back almost instantaneously.

_God, you’re the worst. You’re not allowed to tell dad jokes anymore. You lost your privileges. Privilege officially revoked._

This is the guy Stiles is worried about impressing? This is the guy Stiles wants to be attractive to for some God forsaken reason that he still doesn’t fully understand?

His phone starts ringing and Derek’s name flashes on the display. Not a texter.

“It won’t be a problem,” he says when Stiles answers the call, no greeting, no pleasantries, they’re so far beyond those. 

“You sure?” Stiles’ mouth asks before his brain gives permission and he hates how small he sounds, how pathetic this is.

“Stiles,” Derek sighs, like he can’t believe Stiles is dragging his out of him, “I’m not sitting around thinking about you while I jerk off or having wet dreams about your hands or anything, but you’re very pretty. It’ll work. Now calm down.”

“That’s oddly specific,” Stiles murmurs, his back digging into the shelf behind him and he finally realizes how uncomfortable he is.

“You have nice hands. Don’t make me say anything else nice about you,” Derek admits reluctantly. They sit in silence for a minute and Stiles’ racing brain starts to settle. Derek is good at that, settling him. He always has been. 

He looks at his left hand, his right still holding the phone to his ear even though they aren’t talking. What is it that Derek sees in his hand? It’s just a hand. He uses it to hold things, jerk off, sometimes pick his nose when no one is looking. His knuckles are a little knobby and he sometimes forgets to clip his nails. This is what attracted-to-men Derek has noticed about him after all these years? Stiles doesn’t get it.

“I’m more worried about you, actually,” Derek says after Stiles starts to think about how he needs to get back to work.

“What do you mean, like, performance-wise?”

Derek’s silence is telling.

“We already discussed this, Derek. I get hard at the wind blowing too hard. I can get hard if I just think about Kill Bill’s cinematography too long. I’ll be fine.”

“You say that, but in the moment it might be different,” Derek admits, “at least I’m attracted to men, like you’re not even getting anything out of this. I’ll basically just be using you and you won’t even like it.”

Suddenly he is so glad that Derek decided to call him because they both clearly needed to talk about things before Friday night. “First of all, I don’t think a couple of orgasms is ‘not getting anything’ out of it. Secondly, this was my idea so if I anyone is taking advantage of anyone else, it’s me taking advantage of your beauty, Helen.”

“Please don’t start with the Helen thing again,” Derek says but Stiles is on a roll now and he doesn’t even stop talking to listen.

“And thirdly, anyone would be lucky to be with you. I’ve never been with a dude and I don’t anticipate being with a dude again, but if I’m going to be with any dude, it’s going to be you and it’s going to be awesome, because you’re awesome, dude.”

“I take it back, call me Helen but for the love of God stop calling me dude.”

“And we’ve already talked about what we like and don’t like and I promise I will stop you if I don’t like what we’re doing, just like I want to you to stop me if you don’t like what I’m doing.” Stiles says, “Besides, it’s not like we’re going straight into full on anal fucking.”

“We’re not?” Derek asks and oh yeah, Stiles hasn’t shared his master plan yet.

“No, dude,” Stiles says as Derek groans, “we’re gonna work up to that, whet their appetites a bit. If we get to the main event too early, where are we going to go after that? We’d have to pull out the role play way too early.”

“So what are we doing first then,” there’s a sound of papers shuffling in the background and Stiles thinks how familiar that sound is in relation to Derek. Some people have smells that make you think of them, but Derek has the sound of crinkling papers.

“I think BJs and maybe toys, depending on how the BJs go. I’ve crafted a storyline.”

“I have a degree in English you know, I’m pretty good at storylines.”

“You have a fair point. Okay, here’s what I’m thinking—“ Stiles details the plan he’s been working on to Derek. Neither of them are actors, so he’s keeping it as close to reality as possible so that it feels more natural. One of his biggest complaints about porn is the acting. No one is watching porn for the acting, but that doesn’t mean it needs to be sub-par. 

They work out the finer details of the first ‘episode’ and Stiles feels so much better having Derek on board with him. He vetoes some of Stiles’ choices and comes up with better things and Stiles castigates himself for not telling Derek earlier. They’re in this together, after all. Might as well put out the best product they can, if they’re going to do this.

Stiles finds himself smiling as they plot and when they start talking about future ‘episodes’ the smile grows, because now Derek is fully on board. He knew he’d get there. Now they just have to get the thing recorded and into the hands of their soon to be adoring public. And Stiles knows just the site.

“Thanks,” Stiles breathes into the phone once the conversation comes to a natural close. “I’m glad you called. I feel a million times better.”

“Honestly, me too,” Derek says and it’s so nice to be on the same page. It’s nice to know that Derek is nervous about this too, but also invested.

“Friday then,” Stiles says, reluctantly standing back up.

“I mean, we’ll see each other before then, but yeah, Friday.”

“Later, Helen,” Stiles says and hangs up knowing across campus Derek is cursing him. It’s nice when some things don’t change.


	4. Chapter 4

The next two days are excruciating. He keeps himself busy working and getting ahead on his assignments. He completes that project for his video editing class early, knowing that as soon as the porn happens he’ll want to edit it and get it out as soon as he can. His brain is fixated on this project and he won’t be able to do anything until he sees it through—it’s the same reason he’d go on research bins about circumcision in high school. Sometimes certain ideas just catch his brain the right way. It doesn’t hurt that throwing himself into the project keeps him with very little time to freak out about actually posting it online. 

He manages a small freak out in the ten minutes it takes him to fall asleep on the couch Thursday night, it’s his turn on the rota. This one specifically about his body hair. Was he supposed to shave it all off? Should he have waxed? He doesn’t have any money to waste on waxing anyway and it’s too late to worry about it anymore. He keeps himself mostly groomed, he’s just not completely hairless like most of the men are in the porn he watched for, um, research purposes.

It’s a long night on the couch but Friday dawns with Scott throwing a pillow at him, “You’re going to be late if you don’t leave now.”

Remember when he turned eighteen and became a legal adult? Yeah, Stiles remembers that significant birthday meaning he’s in charge of his life now, but here he is being subjected to Derek and Scott managing him.

Stiles starts to get worked up about it, but Derek puts a cup of coffee in his hand and Stiles recognizes it’s just the pre-caffeinated zombie talking. He loves Scott and Derek.

The coffee is slightly cold, which doesn’t bother Stiles because he gulps it down. Scott’s right about leaving now. He’s already going to be late, he knows it. Derek must have given him the last of the first pot he made so that he wouldn’t burn himself.

Stiles goes into the small bedroom where he keeps his clothes, throws on the first clean looking outfit he can find and he slings his backpack across his shoulders.

“See you tonight,” Scott calls as Stiles is about to head out the door.

“You better not,” Derek says to Scott with his significant eyebrows on, “the _thing_ is happening tonight. We’ll text you when it’s safe to come home.”

Stiles spares a second to watch Scott shudder and then happily repress everything again.

“Can’t wait to have you sex me up, buttercup,” Stiles says as he closes the door behind him, just to sucker punch Scott for the hell of it. He can practically feel Derek rolling his eyes.

Since their talk while Stiles was working in the library, things have been easier. He feels a kinship with Derek. Yeah, he’s nervous as hell, but they’re in it together. It’ll either be super terrible together—Stiles is thinking this is more and more likely now that the rush of the initial idea has worn off—or they’ll become amateur porn stars together.

He tries to block everything out while he’s in class during the day. He manages to rent another camera from the media library, but he has his own memory card for that camera so there’s no chance he’ll accidentally leave unsavory things on it.

Stiles approaches the ‘shoot’ as professionally as he can in the hopes that if he tortures himself over the details and angles then he doesn’t have to think about the actual sex part until it’s show time. For the most part, it works. After he leaves Erica’s dorm with her camera and the promise of telling her exactly how it went next time he sees her, he returns to the apartment. He’s the first to get home, as he usually is on Fridays. 

He gets to work setting up the big bedroom—he wants multiple angles, but has to make sure you can’t see any of the other cameras in the view of each one. He goes so far as to tape marks on the floor for where they need to stand for ultimate shot of the BJs to come. 

They have to wait for the sun to set so as not to mess up the lighting too much. Stiles has a couple big lights from previous projects, and he borrowed another from the media library as well, under the guise of having to re-shoot part of his video project. Definitely _definitely_ not using this for porn, thanks. 

He’ll turn it back in on Monday and worry about lighting again once this goes well and he can convince Derek to do it again.

Stiles pushes the butterflies in his stomach back into their cocoons. There’s no time to be nervous. It’s happening and under all the nervousness, Stiles find that he’s slightly excited. He’s not sure what to do with that, so he tells himself it’s excitement to finally be able to buy the nice cheese at the grocery store. He can finally quit working at the library. If this goes the way he wants it to, their lives will change.

So, no pressure.

Derek gets home as the sun is setting, exactly when Stiles told him. He hears the door open and falls over from where he’s adjusting the lighting for the tenth time. It makes an embarrassingly loud crashing sound.

“Sounds like you’re home, Stiles,” Derek calls. Stiles walks into the kitchen just in time to watch Derek go through the same motions he always does when he comes home. He places his briefcase on the breakfast bar and goes straight to the coffee pot. 

“Already made some for you,” Stiles says, grabbing Derek’s mug from the sink and handing it to him. Up close he can see that Derek is paler than normal and feels safe enough to tell him, “I’ve been too nervous to sit still so I figured I’d go ahead and make your coffee.”

Derek grunts, pouring the coffee and taking the first sip. He luxuriates in it and this is normally when Stiles would watch the burden of the week lift off of Derek’s shoulders, but instead it transmutes into a different kind of tension.

“I’m nervous too,” he admits and yeah, Stiles kinda figured, but it feels nice to hear it.

“Last chance to back out,” Stiles offers, not mentioning that he’s showered twice and scrubbed every inch of his body three times. He may or may not have spent twenty minutes trying and failing to style his hair before he gave up and took that second shower.

“You’d kill me if I backed out now,” Derek says over his coffee and Stiles snorts.

“I wouldn’t _kill_ you, I’d just be mad you didn’t back out before I went to the trouble of setting everything up, writing a script, checking out extra material, psyching myself up, etcetera. I’d get over it eventually.”

“I’d like to think that, but I know I’d hear about it until the end of time.”

Stiles consider this, “Well, not in front of our parents at least. You’d be safe there.”

“Oh joy,” Derek says, looking up at the ceiling. “Well I’m not backing out so let’s do this.”

“Okay,” Stiles says and Derek finishes the last bit of his coffee, “okay okay okay.”

Derek frowns and then tilts his head, “maybe I should shower and brush my teeth first. Don’t want to kill you with coffee breath.”

“Honestly it would probably just turn me on,” Stiles says before he can consider that he might want to keep that to himself. “You know how much I love coffee.”

“God, you’re so weird,” Derek mumbles, walking towards the bathroom.

“Blow me,” Stiles smirks and he sees Derek almost trip.

“Yeah yeah, shower first,” Derek says without looking back and Stiles breaks out into a grin. He loves that Derek doesn’t back down.

The shower is quick because Derek brushes his teeth while he showers. They all do. Scott convinced them that it saves water to do it while you’re waiting for the shampoo to rinse out of your hair. Stiles isn’t sure on the math there, but they’ve been doing it that way for so long that it would be hard to change at this point. 

Stiles has enough time to worry about what he’s wearing. Is he supposed to wear something cute? Sure he won’t be wearing it for long, but he’s supposed to be in character. He’s a serious actor. His porn is going to elevate all other porn and it’s down to the details like the costume. How could he overlook something so simple? Searching frantically through the pile of mostly clean clothes on the small bedroom floor, he almost screams in frustration. He doesn’t own anything cute! 

“Derek,” he calls into the bathroom, “What am I supposed to wear?”

Derek yells back over the sound of the water, “You’re the director. How am I supposed to know what you should be wearing?”

“You’re no help,” Stiles says, coming into the bathroom. The permanently broken door makes this very easy, it’s always partially cracked open. He might as well brush his teeth while he’s here. He opens the curtain wide enough to grab his toothbrush and the communal toothpaste from the shower caddy around the spout. 

“And hey, what do you want me to wear?” Derek doesn’t even flinch, not that Stiles got an eye of him or anything. This is all still perfectly normal behavior for the Hale-Stilinski clan. Closed doors are just suggestions.

Stiles puts the toothpaste on the toothbrush and thinks about it for a second, “Just wear what you were wearing earlier. Slightly professional, but hot. That’ll work.”

He starts brushing his teeth and he can hear Derek open the body wash, the second cheapest in the store. The cheapest gives Scott a rash, they found out the hard way.

“If you’re supposed to be a straight dude,” Derek says and Stiles tries not to imagine him running the soap all over his body—the body he’s about to get very acquainted with, “maybe you should play that up with like basketball shorts and a t-shirt.”

With no better ideas, Stiles decides to go with that. He grunts through the toothpaste and knows that Derek understood what he meant.

Stiles rinses his teeth and heads to the little bedroom to change clothes, then back to the kitchen, knowing Derek’s about done and will need to put his clothes back on. Sure enough, Derek joins him a minute later, back in his khaki pants and green button up.

They stare at each other for a moment. There’s nothing else left to do and Stiles knows that he doesn’t want to be the one to suggest they take it to the bedroom. But it was his idea, so he should take responsibility. He sighs. Being a director is hard work, all these decisions to make.

“Shall we?” he asks.

Derek raises one eyebrow at him and Stiles wants to wring his neck. “Actually,” a blush spreads across Derek’s face, piquing Stiles’ interest. Where can this possibly go? “Can we just... um.”

Stiles moves around the kitchen until he’s standing next to Derek and bumps him lightly with his shoulder. “What is it dude?”

“Look, you can’t make fun of me for this, family rules.”

Family rules means if something really really bothers you, then the family can’t make fun of you for it. It’s rarely called because using it too much makes the family lose respect for you. Stiles’ dad abused the power too much Stiles’ senior year and now the only thing in his vault is anything to do with Stiles’ mom. 

Derek’s vault holds his dad’s abuse—it’s not only immunity to teasing about the subject, but an unspoken understanding that unless it’s really important that you bring it up, you don’t. Stiles and his dad can bring up his mom, but Scott can’t unless he finds out something about her that Stiles needs to know.

So Derek calling family rules on something before they even get to the porn... Stiles is apprehensive. He assumed the porn was in the family rules vault basically by default, except that maybe Scott has the right to tease them occasionally depending on how it goes.

Derek has trouble looking him in the eye, but this is clearly something important to him so Stiles waits patiently. It’s not like they have a time limit on the porn making.

“I think it will be awkward if I kiss you for the first time in there. That stuff that we do in there is for other people’s enjoyment. That’s fine,” he reassures Stiles who had already opened his mouth to start objecting, “I know what I signed up for and I’m not backing out. I just think it’ll go better if we have a chance to get the first kiss jitters out of the way out here.”

Stiles can feel in his gut that Derek’s leaving something out. But he made his request and it’s reasonable and, honestly, Stiles is kinda on the same page now that Derek brings it up. 

“Yeah, dude, good idea. We’ll kiss out here and it’ll be for us. To be honest, I’m a little nervous to kiss a dude, anyway, so it’ll be nice to have like your guidance or whatever. You can tell me if I’m doing it wrong.”

Derek rolls his eyes, “it’s not that different, Stiles.”

“See, you’re already guiding me. Thanks, Der.”

“Just c’mere,” Derek grabs his arm around the bicep and drags him in front of him. Derek’s leaning back against the counter with his legs slightly opened. 

Up close, Stiles notices that he’s just as tall as Derek and his shoulders are just as broad. Derek has loads of muscle on him, always has since puberty, but he’s been so much bigger and older and wiser in Stiles’ mind for so long that it’s sobering to realize that he’s Derek’s equal now. 

He takes another baby step closer, into the space between Derek’s legs and puts his shaking hands on Derek’s shoulders.

A giggle escapes his lips and Derek, who looks just as freaked out as he feels, pinches the skin under his ribs.

“Stop, I’m trying not to see you as twelve years old and the giggling isn’t helping.”

“Dude, I’m nineteen.”

“I know. I got you a birthday card.”

They’re standing so close that Stiles can see that Derek’s eyes are about five different colors. It’s almost unsettling except that they’re so beautiful. Like the Grand Canyon or something.

“Should we just go for it?” Stiles asks quietly, “it’s kinda weird being this close to you.”

“You fall asleep on me all the time on movie nights,” Derek points out.

“I can’t help that you’re so warm. And it’s not like I’m staring directly into your eyes when that happens.”

“Good point,” Derek says and now Stiles knows that they’re both putting it off.

“Okay, I’m going to kiss you now,” Stiles says, “feedback is welcome. I’ve seen your graded papers, you’re brutal but always right.”

“God, you’re the worst,” Derek places a hand on Stiles cheek and pulls him even closer. Stiles feels his eyes close and even closed, Derek’s presence in front of him is practically blinding. Something in his gut clenches and then burns and Stiles feels Derek pull him until his chest meets Derek’s.

Soft lips touch his so lightly, Stiles could have been convinced it was a butterfly landing on them. Derek’s thumb rubs across his cheek bone and Derek rests his forehead against Stiles’.

“Okay so far,” Derek whispers, and finally Stiles understands that Derek’s worried about Stiles here. This kiss is for Stiles. Something in his chest burns and Stiles feels loved. He feels overwhelmed that Derek gave him some bullshit just to make sure that Stiles freaks out out here and not in there and that this is a moment just between the two of them.

Stiles breathes deeply in the space between them.

“Yeah,” Stiles manages to get out, “more of a kiss this time please.”

“You think you can handle it,” Derek says and it’s half teasing and half serious and Stiles answers with his lips on Derek’s.

This time, Stiles notices the beard hairs poking at him. He doesn’t mind them, honestly, it’s almost like spice on the kiss. Derek’s lips are unbelievably soft and Stiles is kind of obsessed with them. There’s no sticky lip gloss clogging everything up, they’re not chapped because Derek drinks like twelve glasses of water a day, they’re full and luscious and Stiles wonders how he’s never noticed how full Derek’s lips are before. He thought, before this moment, that he knew everything there is to know about Derek. Clearly, he doesn’t and that thought makes Stiles smile. 

Wondering what else he might not know, Stiles pokes his tongue at Derek’s lips softly, trying not to scare him but making sure his point gets across.

“Frenching, Stiles,” Derek pulls off for a second, “Really?”

“Am I not ready for an advanced lesson, senpai,” Stiles boops Derek’s nose with his. “I thought it was going rather well.”

“Well, then, lesson two.” This time Derek meets Stiles lips with more gusto, immediately tangling their tongues together.

Stiles is floored, because this is a great kiss. This is a non-sinking Titanic of kisses. Derek is very very good at this and Stiles wonders when he had the chance to get this good. Maybe gay guys are just better at kissing and they’ve taught Derek their ways? 

He doesn’t have long to think about it because his brain goes blank when Derek really gets going. It’s hours, possibly days, later when Stiles finally realizes that his hands are in Derek’s hair and he’s rubbing his erection into Derek’s hip.

Derek brings the kiss to a close and Stiles feels better when he notices that Derek’s hard too. Good, at least it’s not just him.

He opens his eyes and Derek’s are still closed. Stiles stares for just a second and he gets it. He gets why all those girls memorize Derek’s schedule and follow him from class to class. He gets why Valentine’s Day brings pink and red cards to Derek’s office and he gets why he can’t go to the gay club without Scott and Stiles anymore. Derek is literally the most beautiful man in the world. 

It’s really not fair.

“Great job, Helen,” Stiles says, starting to release Derek’s hair and take a step back. He takes a deep breath and tries to calm himself. “You are,” he struggles to put all that just happened into human words, “You are quite good at that.” Close enough. 

Derek tilts his head up to the ceiling and Stiles eyes his adam’s apple and wonders what it would feel like to bite at it. “You’re, um, pretty good too.”

Stiles rubs his face with his hand hard enough that his eyes see a red blur for a couple seconds. 

“Any feedback?” Stiles asks, trying to reestablish the norm here.

“Nope, A plus,” Derek grits out.

“Then should we, um—“ He tilts his head towards the big bedroom. Derek pulls his head back down and nods.

“Yeah, do you need to do anything with the cameras or—“

“They’re set up,” Stiles says, moving towards the door. “I just have to push record. Our marks are clearly labeled. Are you still good with the scenario?”

Derek nods again, easily following Stiles.

Stiles busies himself pushing record on all the cameras, he’ll be able to edit this part out later. He feels Derek’s presence behind him, noting the placement of the marks and Derek stands on the one labeled ‘Helen’ with a scowl. Just as he thought, Derek is framed perfectly in the shot, so they’re good to go.

Stiles runs out of things to do and check and walks the two steps over to his own mark, “you still okay with this?”

Derek smiles back at him, meeting his eyes for the first time since they kissed. Stiles feels instantly empowered. They’re on the same team. “Yeah, let’s do this.”

Stiles slips into the persona he’s playing like he’s putting on a jacket.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally two chapters but it felt kind of short, so I combined them

“C’mon,” Derek says as his douche-bag character, “I see how you look at me. Why don’t you find out what you’re missing.” 

“Stop it, man, you know I’m straight,” Stiles says back, trying to show that his character is actually pretty interested in Derek’s proposition. He’s not sure if he’s nailing it or not. 

“Fine. How about this,” Derek takes a step closer to Stiles, as they’d arranged before. He’s still in frame. Stiles did a lot of tests to make sure. “I’ll blow you and if you don’t like it,” he puts a finger on Stiles’ chest and runs it sensuously down to the waist band of his basketball shorts, “then we can forget about it and I’ll never bring it up again.” 

“And if I do like it?” Stiles catches the trailing finger and rubs it within view of the camera.  
  
Derek smiles and Stiles feels like the deer to his panther. “Well, then, we can probably come up with something.” His eyes smolder and Stiles feels the knot in his stomach tighten a bit. He takes a second to remind himself that this isn’t real. But it feels so real and Stiles remembers why he always wanted to be on the other side of the camera. 

Stiles whimpers, playing up the bicurious straight boy. Derek takes this as the consent that Stiles means it as and frees his hand from Stiles’ grip. He runs his hand down Stiles’ chest again and when he gets to the hem of his t shirt, starts pulling it up. Stiles raises his arms to help ease the way. 

Derek places a gentle kiss on Stiles’ lips and then trails down to his collar bone. “I have such a thing for your collar bones, how they stick out of your shirts, taunting me.” 

Stiles gasps, none of the girls he’s been with have paid attention to him like this before. He’s usually playing with their breasts, tonguing at cute belly buttons and it’s pretty nice being the one worshiped for once. Derek takes his time exploring Stiles’ chest, following the story that Derek’s character has wanted Stiles for a while and thinks this might be his only chance to taste him. 

Derek is selling the fairytale like a door to door salesman. Stiles feels Derek slip from his collarbones, now marked thoroughly, down to his right nipple and he lets out an involuntary gasp when Derek sucks lightly on it. 

“You like me playing with your nipples, do you?” Derek taunts, now blowing cool air on them. Stiles is now fully hard and starting to get painful about it. 

“I guess so,” Stiles admits, looking through slitted eyes at Derek, “I’ve never had anyone do that before.” 

“How can anyone ever have you like this and not want to play with you?” Derek asks, his hands coming around Stiles’ back and they feel huge. One hand reaches down tentatively, and squeezes Stiles’ ass, “I want to devour you whole.” 

He punctuates that sentence by finding the edge of Stiles’ pants and pulling them down along with his underwear. Stiles doesn’t have time to feel self conscious or awkward standing naked and aroused in front of Derek because Derek’s mouth and the wet trail leading from his nipple to his hip takes up all the space for thinking in his brain. 

Derek is so close to where Stiles really wants him. He looks down, not realizing he had closed his eyes when Derek was sucking on his nipples, and almost comes at the sight of Derek on his knees in front of him, that dark head resting next to Stiles’ dick like a supplicant. 

Stiles didn’t think he was one of those guys who got off on the power of being sucked off, but now he might have to rethink that because he is seriously about to nut and they haven’t even gotten to the blow job yet and that’s the whole reason they’re doing this. Stiles can’t come yet, though he’s desperate. 

Derek nudges Stiles’ boner with his nose and playfully looks up at him, “I think you might be into this. Are you sure you don’t like men?” 

“I haven’t decided yet,” Stiles says back, “I guess you’ll have to present a strong argument in your favor.” 

The smile in Derek’s eyes is real and Stiles finds himself smiling too. They had decided on minimal banter beforehand but neither of them seem to be able to turn it off. Stiles has a running policy of never letting anyone else get the final word and Derek has a policy of never putting up with Stiles’ bullshit so the no banter rule was never going to fly and they should have known that. 

The people who don’t like the banter can just mute it—watch two skinny white dudes fuck without snarking about it. It’ll be fine. 

Derek continues to tease him, building up the moment. Hopefully that’s what he’s doing and not chickening out or deciding it’s too disgusting to do or thousands of other reasons Stiles can think of about why Derek wouldn’t want to blow him. Most of the girls he’s been with haven’t wanted to blow him. Statistically, Derek shouldn’t want to either. That’s just math. 

Like Derek can sense Stiles’ apprehension, he chooses this moment to speak, “God, look at this,” he grabs Stiles’ boner with his hand and gives it a few pulls. Stiles holds it together and doesn’t come immediately and honestly he should get a medal in the porn olympics. “This is such a good dick. I knew you’d have a great dick.” 

Then Stiles almost dies. 

Because Derek Hale puts Stiles Stilinski’s dick in his mouth and it is a transcendent experience. 

After the wall of immediate pleasure flickers into just a steady stream of pleasure and Stiles thinks he can reliably open his eyes again without coming instantaneously at the sight of Derek’s head working between his legs, Stiles realizes that Derek definitely knows what he’s doing. This is a world class blow job. This is a five Michelin Star blow job.  
  
“This is the Taj Mahal of blow jobs,” he accidentally says out loud. 

Derek pauses, and Stiles hears himself begin to ramble and he is not holding the reins to his mouth anymore. Derek took them away somehow and he blames him entirely. 

“I know the Taj Mahal is a tomb, don’t give me that look, but like you are going to kill me with this blow job and honestly it’s so good, that it’s Taj Mahal level of tombs and not like I dunno being cremated or a plaque or something. Sorry, having trouble thinking clearly enough for that to make sense.” 

Derek manages to roll his eyes while fucking Stiles with his mouth and the words just won’t stop, Stiles can’t help it when he says, “And god, you look so good like this, taking my cock like a champ. I like watching my dick disappear into your throat. Who’s cock have you been sucking like this to get so good at this? Why hasn’t it been mine?” 

“Could have been yours sooner,” Derek pulls off long enough to say and take a deep breath. 

He takes him back in and deeper this time, and his hands come up to play with Stiles’ balls, rolling them between his fingers expertly and this is what does Stiles in. Derek, bobbing on Stiles’ cock, his childhood hero and one of the best men Stiles has known in his entire life, one of the few people whose opinion matters to him, choking on his cock with those big green eyes starting to tear up a bit with how deep he’s taking Stiles. 

“I’m close,” he manages to get out. His hands come to rest on Derek’s head, folding into his hair, and he doesn’t think about framing the shot, he doesn’t think about if it’ll block anything, he just thinks about how fucking good it feels and that he’s about to come and it’s Derek doing it to him.

“Then come,” Derek says, taking him in hand and pointing Stiles’ dick at his face and that does it, the thought of coming on Derek’s face takes him over the edge and suddenly he’s shooting and his come lands across Derek’s face and neck and he almost comes again just at that sight. 

He breathes deeply for sixty seconds, trying to let his brain catch back up with his body, but it’s plastered all over Derek’s face. 

“That’s a good look for you,” Stiles says, kneeling down to be on Derek’s level. This part isn’t planned, but Stiles honestly can’t help it. There’s something in his caveman brain that likes the idea of his come on the things that he loves and he runs his pointer finger through the come on Derek’s face and licks it off. It doesn’t taste great, but Stiles forgets about that as soon as he sees the interest in Derek’s eyes. He likes that. 

On a lark, Stiles puts his hands on Derek’s shoulders and leans in slow enough for Derek to push him off if he doesn’t like this, and licks the side of Derek’s face clean of his own spunk. 

Hopefully that’ll look good on camera. He ends the scene by standing up to get Derek a wash cloth to wipe off with. He chances a look down and Derek is still hard. 

“Do you want me to, um,” he says looking down pointedly as he hands the wash cloth over. 

“No,” Derek says, blushing. Stiles laughs to himself. He can suck Stiles off like a pro and be sexy and a tease, but the idea of Stiles doing the same to him is what makes him blush? 

Derek quickly wipes the rest of the come off and Stiles finds himself mentally saving the picture of Derek, still hard, with Stiles’ come all over his face. 

“We’ll save it for the next time, the audience will love seeing you give your first blow job.” Stiles agrees with the words and because he just came his brains out it takes second for the nuance of what he said to hit. 

He smirks over at Derek, “Next time, huh? Are you saying we passed the trial period?” 

Derek takes a second to answer and Stiles gives that to him because he’s still dealing with a raging hard on. “I think they’re going to want more,” he says, standing up and walking to the bathroom, the come on his face now gone. 

“And I think they’re going to pay for it.” 

The door shuts behind him and the shower starts for the second time in an hour. Stiles can’t even bring himself to get mad about Derek wasting water.   
His brain starts dreaming about next time.

Stiles knows how he is with a project, when he really gets into it literally days can pass before he realizes what’s happened. In the case of porn editing, Past Stiles was wise to choose Friday night to do the deed, because his entire weekend disappears while he edits the thing between shifts. The initial edits are easy, but he goes back and forth on what he wants to include—does he edit out the banter and stick to just the sex? Does he include the washcloth at the end because watching it back, it’s kind of sweet.   
He finally just creates three different versions to show to Derek before they upload one. 

Scott spends Sunday afternoon trying to cajole him out of his editing cave on his limited time off so they can have some bro bonding time. 

Stiles hasn’t seen Derek in person all weekend, and he kinda figured that would happen. He’d avoid Derek too if he didn’t have something to occupy his time. Not because it was bad. Definitely not because it was bad. That’s the problem. The more he looks at the footage the more he’s convinced that they had outstanding sexual chemistry and Stiles isn’t sure how he feels about it. 

But looking at the picture of absolute bliss on his face while Derek sucks his cock, he can’t deny that he’s never felt like that when a woman blows him. Although, no women have enthusiastically blown him, it’s always been a tough negotiation. Still, his response shows him that he was one hundred percent into it. There was no acting there. That was just Stiles responding to a beautiful man blowing him. 

Best not to think about it too deeply. 

He finally relents to Scott’s puppy eyes Sunday evening and they take the last four dollars in Stiles’ bank account to the pub down the street for one dollar taco night. They can afford three between the two of them. Scott brought some day old bread home from the grocery store, so they eat peanut butter sandwiches to actually fill themselves up before they get the tacos. They end up being dessert tacos, which works fine for Stiles. 

An older gentleman with a kind face buys Scott a beer, probably overheard him talking about how poor he is, and Stiles and Scott eagerly share it. 

“So, was it, I dunno, the weirdest thing ever?” Scott asks once he’s done talking about Kira and how they are definitely not dating, just friends. Strictly platonic friends. 

“What?” Stiles plays with the straw in his water, it’s already chewed to hell. He put his lemon in the water and a couple sweet n low for a weak lemonade. 

“You know,” Scott whispers and refuses to look him in the eye, “the porn.” 

Stiles finds this amusing. He shifts in the booth across from Scott, trying to draw his attention and force eye contact. “You want to talk about it now? I thought you never ever ever wanted to hear about it ever?” 

Scott sighs and looks up to the rafters, “I’d rather never talk about it. But someone has to make sure the two of you are okay. Especially since I have to live with you both.” 

Stiles feels his heart warm. “I’m okay, Scotty.” 

“Good,” Scott says definitively, like he’s relieved the conversation is finally over. 

“And is,” Stiles trails off, not really sure how to ask the question weighing on his mind. He knows they left it pretty well. Stiles fell asleep pretty quickly after they were done, the orgasm and the melting of the anxiety taking any wakefulness out of him, but he doesn’t know what happened with Derek after that. He spent the next morning returning all supplies to the media library and then in the editing cave and his tunnel vision on the project didn’t allow for the famous Stilinski perceptiveness. “Is Derek okay, too?” 

Scott’s eyes soften, the only person more important than Stiles in his life is his older brother. When a family goes through what Scott and Derek went through, it either tears a family apart, or knits them together even tighter. Scott and Derek are two sleeves of one ugly Christmas sweater. 

“He’s okay too. He was mad when I asked how he was but I think he understands that I had to ask.” 

“We agreed there would be more porn,” Stiles tells him, “but it was in a rush and at the end, so I’m not going to hold him to that until we talk about it again.” 

“Well, as long as you’re both okay, then I’m going to close the case,” Scott says, “so go back to not telling me anything at all about your dick, his dick, or anybody’s booty hole.” 

Stiles smirks, “how about mouth holes?” 

Scott just glares. 

  
Monday morning brings Stiles back down to reality. He has a morning shift at Starbucks, four hours of classes back to back, and then a shift at the library. He usually spends his library time on Mondays doing his homework for the week. Today, he knows he’ll spend his shift at the library uploading the porn on the fast internet while he drives the cart around returning books to the shelves. 

Stiles needs Derek to text him back about which version to upload, and then they’re all good. He has hours before go time. Still, he sends a follow up text to the group chat. The longer they go without communicating at all, the higher the chance of awkwardness settling upon everything like a blanket. 

At Starbucks, Erica gets her camera back. They work in tandem making drinks all morning during the rush of college kids needing caffeine. Stiles picks out the kids with deadlines in a couple hours and thinks about his own self-imposed deadline. It’s not like anyone is counting on it going up today. They’re not breaking any hearts over here about missing a deadline for the BJ porn upload. There’s not even any penetration. 

“Do you need it again this weekend?” Erica asks over the fourth pumpkin spice latte she’s had to make in the last hour. Stiles must space out, because she keeps talking, “The camera? Do you need it again this weekend?” 

“Oh,” he says, snapping out of it, “Yeah, if you don’t mind.” 

“I wouldn’t offer if I minded,” she says and that’s very true. Erica never offers things out of politeness. Stiles isn’t convinced she knows the meaning of the word. There’s a reason she’s making drinks and not taking orders. 

They finish up on the drinks they’re making, Stiles yells out “Cody” and meets the eyes of a kid who was in his theater class last semester. Stiles gives him a bro nod and goes back to the bar to make the next drink. 

“So,” Erica says pointedly, “how’d it, you know, go?” 

Stiles sighs. “I think it went pretty well. The lighting really held up. The hardest part was staying on our marks, but even then you can’t tell what’s going on in the moment and where the camera is when your dick is being sucked, so while the action of it happening was amazing, I had a hard time with the editing.” 

“You got your dick sucked?” Erica asks, “you didn’t do more than that?” 

“No,” Stiles admits, “we’re working up to more. This is all still new for me.” 

“Sex?” 

Stiles shakes his head and grabs another cup, “sex with a man.” 

Erica grabs the vanilla syrup in between them and goes to town on the drink she’s working on. “So the camera angles didn’t work out very well?” 

“Yeah,” Stiles says, knowing he can go into more detail with Erica about this than Scott because she’s also working on a degree in editing, “I get why porn studios have camera people now, things are moving around so quickly and there was no way to get the close up footage of the dick sucking without stopping completely, moving everything and ruining the moment.” 

“Still,” Stiles says, eyeing the clock for much time he has on his shift, “it didn’t turn out too badly. Definitely something we can put up. I just know it could have been better, you know?” 

Erica huffs an amused laugh, “porn perfectionist, huh?” 

“There’s nothing wrong with liking quality, Erica,” he argues, “if I’m going to potentially humiliate myself and Derek doing this, it might as well be some great shit, okay?”  
“I’m just teasing you,” she says kindly and they fall into a companionable silence while the rush continues. Erica leans over him five minutes later for the whipped cream and abruptly stops all movement. She basically looks like she ran into a glass door. 

“You okay?” Stiles tentatively asks. Is he qualified to get her mentally checked? You probably have to be like next of kin or something for that, right? 

“You have a TV right?” her eyes grow overly large and Stiles recognizes the excitement in her voice. It reminds him of when she first decided to get him the job at Starbucks so she wouldn’t be alone in her customer service torture. 

Stiles pushes her back towards the whipped cream, hoping she’ll take the hint to keep working. Isaac is already shooting them concerned glances and he mostly tries to stay out of their way. Well, he stays out of Erica’s way. 

“Yeah,” Stiles says, “Derek got one a pretty nice one for Christmas slash his birthday last year, it’s literally the nicest thing we have in our apartment and I’m including our value as human beings in that estimate.” 

“Well what if you rent that thing Professor Brown has that shows the live feed on the TV while you record?” Erica whisper-yells across the coffee bar, “You could hook your HDMI up to it and then you and Derek can see what you look like while you’re boning.” 

Stiles straight up drops the half made latte in his hand, “Oh my god!” Isaac turns to look at them again and Stiles makes a hand gesture he hopes the manager takes as meaning everything’s fine here. 

“I know,” she says and starts to resemble her usual too cool attitude again, “I’m basically a genius.” 

Stiles rushes to kiss her on the cheek, “you basically are! Now we don’t have to get anybody to help film or anything. Derek won’t be able to handle it.”

“Don’t let Boyd catch you macking on me,” she throws a rag at him to mop up the heated milk on the floor. 

“Boyd wouldn’t dare go after anyone, he knows you’d kick anyone’s ass you didn’t want touching you,” Stiles says, now on his knees wiping the floor. Why is he always wiping this goddamn floor? 

Erica hands her drink off to the too interested hipster girl with the septum piercing that doesn’t match her face. “True,” she says, “get you a man who respects your self-respect.” 

“That’s deep,” Stiles says, still on his knees but with much less milk now. 

Erica looks down her nose at him, her eyes crinkled with amusement. “Is this what you’re going to look like next weekend? On your knees?” 

A tsunami of anxiety hits Stiles when he realizes, yeah, she’s basically right. This is the position he’ll be in next Friday, except with more of Derek’s dick in his mouth.   
She must sense the panic start to overtake him. He wonders if he has a thought bubble above his head and she’s got the key to reading it. 

“Want some tips?” 

He stands up, rubs his face with his hand and nods.


	6. Chapter 6

Tuesday and Wednesday disappear between work shifts and homework. He checks the website stats for how the video is doing obsessively until the numbers stop changing every time he looks and then Stiles decides it’s probably better not to look at all and just let it ride. There’s no point in pinning on all his hopes on the first video, especially when he already knows that it’s not the highest quality and most people looking for porn aren’t nutting to vanilla BJs.This isn’t representative of him as a filmmaker. He puts the response out of his mind and gets lost in his school work instead.

Stiles writes an essay somewhere in there and emails it to Derek to proof read since he’s barely seen him in person the last couple days. 

Derek sends it back two hours later with brutal comments, but a few compliments sprinkled in if you know what to look for. Stiles stands by saying that Derek’s harsh but always right. He implements the improvements Derek suggests and immediately the paper feels ten times better. 

_thanks dude, this is so helpful i could suck your dick for this_ he sends to the group text. Scott sends the throwing up emoji about two seconds after Stiles pushes send. He gets lost in his video editing project for class for the next few hours. 

As he starts to put his Starbucks uniform on, he catches Derek’s response.

_I’ll collect Friday_

His dick twitches as he pulls his pants up and Stiles purposefully doesn’t think about it. He focuses on coming up with a new hiding place for the last blueberry muffin so he can take one home after his shift. He doesn’t normally work today, but Liam called in sick and Stiles managed earlier in his tenure at Starbucks to ingratiate himself to Isaac enough to be his first call to pick up a shift. He also needs to borrow Erica’s camera again and he’s guaranteed to see her tonight.

If he keeps a running to-do list in his head, then he doesn’t have time to think about the stats, or Derek being funny, or Derek in general, or how he’s still fucking _poor_ , or how Scott promised to cat sit for Danny so now they have to pretend they don’t have a cat if Finstock wants to come by unannounced just to make an extra $50. He just got paid last week, but his money’s all gone into insurance and food and his book fund for next semester. 

Stiles shakes his head, rids himself of all thoughts, plugs in his headphones and listens to his calm down Spotify playlist. He still has a few weeks on this free trial until he needs to make up another email account. 

The short walk to Starbucks off campus serves to calm him down. He mentally calendars out the next couple of days while making drinks on autopilot. Adding this shift, he can’t finish up his Stat homework, but he can do that during his library shift tomorrow if he blackmails Jordan into letting him work the front desk. He tries to do that sparingly. It doesn’t do to use all your cards at once. 

Sneaking his newly liberated blueberry muffin out in his ball cap, Stiles hurriedly eats it on his way back to the apartment, struggling not to drop it and Erica’s borrowed camera. 

When Stiles hears the door slam on Friday evening, he looks up to see Derek for the first time all week. Dear Jesus, Stiles almost forgot how good he looks. Now that he sees the Derek that everyone else sees, he can’t make his brain go backwards and just see the night farts and unibrow. He’s grown a bit of a stress beard and he’s sporting a sweater vest that he manages to make work somehow.

“You’re not wearing that when I blow you,” slips out of Stiles’ mouth before he can catch it.

Derek’s eyes snap to his and for the first time all week Stiles feels relieved—there’s no contempt, no judgment, no disbelief, no disgust—Stiles remembers that he’s not alone, they’re in this together even if Derek’s just a part of the filming, he threw his lot in with Stiles decades before. 

“Well if all goes to plan, I won’t be wearing much of anything,” he says with a pleased-with-himself smirk, now starting towards the full coffee pot, dropping his briefcase on the kitchen counter. Stiles feels the beginnings of a tradition, suddenly he sees Derek doing this dance a thousand times in their future, coming home after a long week and drinking the coffee Stiles prepared for him, snarking and radiating a quiet joy. 

They chill in a comfortable silence for moment. 

“Are you nervous?” Derek asks over the brim of their Jurassic Park mug that Stiles thinks originally belonged to Melissa, but wouldn’t stake his life on it.

He shifts from foot to foot, feeling stupid standing in his own kitchen. “A little,” he admits, “not as much as last time.” Derek nods and Stiles suspects his admittance brings Derek’s apprehension to the forefront. 

“I mean,” he says, trying desperately to assuage Derek—Derek should never be made to feel nervous or wrong footed, “I’m not before-the-Christmas-pageant-nervous.”

Derek snorts and Stiles counts it as a win. “You didn’t even have a speaking part. You were just the background wise man. Clearly they went for irony that year.”

“I didn’t want to mess up the birth of Christ!” Stiles says, ignoring the end of Derek’s thought and settling into an old and beloved argument.

“You’re Jewish,” Derek points out, slam-dunking the irony comment.

Stiles shakes his head, his hands wide spread like they seem to do of their own volition whenever he gets into an argument, “That doesn’t mean I wanted to be the reason we messed up the birth of Christ,” he soaks up the amusement in Derek’s eyes, he’s always thrived on petty arguments as much or more so than Stiles, “besides, you guys were counting on me.”

Derek downs the last of the luke-warm coffee, “You haven’t ever let us down.”

Something unnameable bubbles in Stiles’ chest. He knows that’s a lie—he leaves the toilet seat up all the time, stubs his toes on Derek’s laptop, drinks straight from the milk jug and then forgets to put it back in the fridge. He does all manner of things to let Derek down, let Scott down. He didn’t notice when Derek’s dad was _abusing_ him and he still wakes up once or twice a month with nightmares from the guilt. 

“Let’s get this show on the road,” Stiles says, and then looks distastefully down at Derek’s face. He’s sure Derek’s face isn’t used to that look. “I’ll go over the scene while you shave that raccoon off your face. A little stubble is sexy, but this is just ridiculous.”

Derek’s face morphs into incredulity. Stiles ignores him, “C’mon, big guy. No one wants beard burned balls. Let’s go.”

“You’re blowing me, though,” Derek follows behind him to the bathroom. He’s never going to not follow Stiles. 

Stiles, now walking a step ahead, whips around and points both forefingers at his own face, “and do you see a beard on my face?”

“You can’t grow one,” Derek raises his eyebrows and oh man, Stiles is not going to take this sitting down.

“That’s conjecture,” he flips a hand as if to waft away Derek’s negativity.

Those raised eyebrows narrow, “No, it’s a fact.”

Stiles hesitates a moment, keeping both of them awkwardly penned into the small hallway. Derek’s body heat fills up the space and Stiles thinks it must have to do with the stupid sweater vest with it’s soft pattern and shiny buttons. Stiles remembers fondly how happy he was to find it in the bin at Goodwill. 

“I’m not kissing you with that thing on your face. I have a shift at Starbucks tomorrow and I cannot explain having beard burn to the hot girls I want to hit on.”

“You don’t hit on any girls at work,” Derek so helpfully points out. 

“You don’t know that!” Stiles says, “when have you ever seen me at work?”

“I know you,” Derek says simply.

“What, so I’m not cool-guy enough to hit on girls at work? You think I’m so lame that I can’t get with someone?”

“No, of course not,” Derek says, “I mean that you’re the serial monogamist type. Except that you’re rarely actually in an exclusive relationship, you just crush hard on one person at a time to the point that no one else exists to you.”

Stiles feels his mouth gape open. “What?” He says and he’s ashamed to say that it comes out so high pitched that likely only dogs will hear it. 

“It’s actually a good thing. It’s kinda sweet,” Derek takes a second to pat Stiles on the head and steam pours out of his ears at the condescension. 

“Take that back!” Stiles rips Derek’s hand off his head. “I am not sweet. I’m not!”

Derek laughs and his whole face lights up, “It’s times like this I remember you’re so much younger than me. What’s wrong with being sweet?”

“Sweet isn’t sexy. I want to be sexy and desirable and respected.”

“You’re already all those things,” Stiles doesn’t blush. He doesn’t. “And sweet too. You’re falling victim to toxic masculinity, it’s an—“

“Epidemic in society these days,” Stiles finishes the sentence, happy to be back on familiar ground. “I know, I know.”

“We’ve got to stop treating our boys like—“

“Derek,” Stiles says across the short distance, “I’m on board with toxic masculinity and all, but you’re making it really hard to want to blow you right now.”

“Do you usually want to blow me?”

“No, but you’re making getting into the head-space difficult.” Stiles eyes his hideous beard again, “and so is Rocket the Raccoon. Now can you please shave?”

Derek pauses a second and then nods but he manages to make it feel like he’s doing Stiles a huge favor. 

Stiles follows Derek into the bathroom like a duckling following it’s mom, chattering nervously. Derek picks out the important bits, as usual, and asks a few questions about logistics. Basically, this time around Derek’s character convinces Stiles’ character that it’s selfish not to reciprocate. 

“Recip-bro-cate,” Stiles says, nudging Derek with his elbow while Derek tries to concentrate on shaving, “Am I right?”

“Stop making bro jokes about everything,” Derek says, not taking his eyes off the mirror. He’s on that hard part on the neck. Stiles doesn’t really grow hair there, but he hears it’s hard to shave. Mostly from Scott. 

Stiles leaves Derek to finish getting ready and goes to check the filming equipment for the seventeenth time. It wasn’t as nerve wrecking as last time, but he’s still anxious. He wouldn’t be himself if he wasn’t on the anxiety spectrum somewhere. 

There’s a problem sitting smack dab in the middle of the bed. He tosses Danny’s Persian cat into the small bedroom with its food, water, and litter box and gives it a stern talking to about staying quiet. 

The television’s hooked up and already showing the scene—Stiles stands on his mark again and it’s bewildering to see himself in real time, but he can already tell that it’s going to make editing easier if he can make real-time decisions on the fly like this. His director brain is very excited about the possibilities. 

Derek sneaks in while Stiles is staring at himself on the TV, grateful they never bothered to paint the shitty walls so rigging the TV without a wall mount isn’t going to scratch the paint job.

“What’s this?” Derek says and Stiles definitely doesn’t jump.

He jerks his head awkwardly at the television, “to help with positioning. Did you see the last video?”

“I had to approve it, remember,” Derek says, taking a seat on the bed and continuing to stare up at his television, lovingly and temporarily commandeered from the living room.

“Doesn’t mean you watched it, big guy,” Stiles feels this is a fair point, “you could have just glossed over it.”

Derek carefully doesn’t look at him when he quietly admits, “I watched it.”

Stiles has a moment with himself where he realizes this could be quicksand. He could sink in this moment, they could sink and never recover, so he pushes past the moment but makes a mental note to come back to this second, the tone in Derek’s voice when he admitted to watching their tape, and examine this closer at another time. Present-Stiles needs to move this along.

“So then you noticed that parts of it were choppy and your head went slightly out of frame in the middle. This,” he hikes a thumb back at the TV, “is so that I can see that in real time and correct it. It’s going to make everything look so much better.”

Derek hums, but he looks impressed and Stiles counts it as win.

“Are you ready?”

“What’s my opening line?”

“How about ‘Hey, sexiest man I’ve ever seen,’” Stiles wiggles his eyebrows.

“That’d never work, no one would believe my character would say that.”

“Fine, then just go for it. I’m just sitting in my room studying, being a total cock tease by existing. You take it from there.”

Derek takes a deep breath, “please don’t refer to yourself as a cock tease.”

“I didn’t. My character is a cocktease. It’s called _acting_ Derek, look it up.”

Surprisingly, Derek turns around and leaves the room. Stiles turns all the cameras to record and after a moment, Derek knocks on the door. Stiles is quick enough to realize that Derek’s starting the scene and he’s glad that they both took a second to get in the head-space. Stiles steals a look towards the wall with the TV, everything looks good.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never taken an anatomy class in my life so don't bother correcting me if I'm wrong...

“Yeah,” he calls out, his character has a pencil sticking out of his mouth and is staring at a notebook.

“It’s me,” Derek says through the door. “Can I come in?”

Stiles looks up, trying to show on his face the surprise, dread, anticipation, nervousness that he thinks his character would be feeling when confronted with the first and only man who’s made him come his brains out. Maybe he should have taken an acting class or two. His character is round, okay? He has nuance and like motivation and shit.

“Um,” he looks around his room, like he would if this was real life, wanting to make sure it’s passably clean when a person who might be persuaded to suck his dick came to call. “Yeah, sure.”

Derek opens the door slowly and almost knocks Stiles over with pure sex in his eyes. 

“So, uh, what’s up?” Stiles beats the pencil against his notebook and this isn’t even an acting choice, his hands just moved on their own.

“You busy?” Derek asks, walking in the room and closing the door behind him. 

“Just studying.”

“Oh yeah, can I study with you?”

Stiles’ face furrows. Where’s he going with this? “Do you have a test coming up?”

“Yeah,” Derek says, “in anatomy.”

Stiles knows his character realizes what’s going on now. The pencil beats against the notebook deliberately this time. “You, uh, don’t have any books with you.”

Derek looks down like the books might manifest in his hands. “Would you look at that,” he says and then glances up at Stiles under his lashes and Stiles feels a shot of lust shoot down his body into his dick because that’s the exact same look he got when Derek was sucking his dick last week. “I guess I’ll have to study hands-on.”

“Oh?” Stiles pushes himself to the edge of the bed and then stands up, Derek had moved so close that they’re practically nose to nose now. The tension gears up even higher now that they’re this close together. Stiles longs to reach out and touch the man in front of him. He can see his broad chest through his boring professor dress shirt and he aches to touch his pec. It’s just sitting there begging Stiles to touch it and whatever filter he had in his brain to curve this behavior shorts out and suddenly he’s feeling Derek’s strong chest under his hand. 

“Pectoral,” Derek whispers almost into Stiles’ lips. He’s been staring so hard at his own fingers on Derek’s chest that when he looks up at Derek’s voice, he’s _right there_. Derek’s green eyes have some kind of tractor beam and Stiles is caught in it. He’s not even worried about it.

Something in his brain catches the game and his finger slips from the aforementioned pectoral down to Derek’s six pack.

“Abdominals,” he feels Derek’s breath on his lips and he thinks he might have whimpered. He wants Derek to kiss him. He wants Derek’s lips on his again. He wants it so bad and he’s not sure where this wall of lust came from. Maybe he’s just a terrific actor. He’s never acted in anything else, minus a childhood play here and there, but he could be a natural, right? He’s seen enough TV, maybe it osmosised into him? That’s a thing, right?

His other hand, completely against his will, slides onto Derek’s face, to cup his cheek, his thumb running along the strong cheek bone.

“Zygomatic bone,” Derek whispers and the hand doesn’t stop moving. Suddenly Stiles is touching Derek’s lips with his fingers and they feel so soft and plump.

“Labrum—“ Stiles urges forward and captures Derek’s lips with his own. He can’t stand it anymore. This kiss is just as scorching as the first time, less sweet than their kiss in the kitchen. Stiles feels the specter of the audience hanging above them and knows it’s not just for them—but it’s still warm and intense and explosive and Stiles feels so sexy, and he’s definitely not used to feeling sexy.

Derek ends the kiss with a few quick pecks on Stiles’ mouth and then pushes him back onto the bed. Stiles flies backwards, with a quick glance at the TV that they still have a good angle.

“What are you—“ Stiles begins, just to be cut off by Derek following him onto the bed and pinning him under his weight. There’s something arousing about his weight pushing Stiles down and he represses that deep into the vault of things he’s determined not to think about. Deep, deep down.

“Shhh,” Derek says, moving to sit astride Stiles’ lap. He brings his big hands to rest on Stiles’ thighs and rubs them up and down, the hem of Stiles’ basketball shorts steadily moving higher and higher. “Let me take care of you.”

This isn’t how this is supposed to go, Stiles’ rational brain remembers. This is supposed to be about Derek getting off, not Stiles. Stiles catches Derek’s eyes and sees a silent plea for Stiles to trust him and Stiles always trusts Derek. He trusts him with his academic papers, he trusts him to pay his portion of their bills on time, he trusts him to try his hardest with any video games they try to play together, even though he sucks. There’s an underlying trust that runs so deep, it’s made a canyon in Stiles’ soul after running for years and years. With this in mind, Stiles gives a slight nod for Derek alone. They’ll do this Derek’s way.

With his permission, Derek begins to pull down Stiles’ pants.

“No,” Stiles says before he realizes he’s going to speak, “shirt off first, dude. I’m not about to be Pooh Bearing while you’re fully clothed.”

Derek rolls his eyes and acquiesces, pulling off Stiles’ shirt and then following it with his own shirt for good measure. Stiles gulps. They never got to this point last time. Derek blew him fully clothed and now he’s staring down at Stiles with a gleam in his eye and he’s bare from the waist up. Stiles is really putting his all into this performance, this is a _performance_ boner.

“Now your shorts,” Derek lies over him, gives his nipple a kitten lick while his hands find the waistband of Stiles’ shorts and begin to pull. “I remember how much you like your nipples played with.” He spends several long moments playing with Stiles’ nipples and Stiles feels himself grow harder and harder. His hips start to rock without direction, grinding into Derek’s. Stiles feels a sense of masculine pride at Derek’s hard on. He’s still in complete disbelief that Derek could be aroused by this. By him. 

He feels Derek’s mouth travel up, take a pit stop at his collar bones, and then continue up. He rubs dangerously into Stiles’ crotch while his lips meet Stiles again, and it feels like he couldn’t _not_ kiss Stiles. It feels like Derek _has_ to kiss him.

Damn, Derek’s good at this acting thing too. Stiles thought he’d be terrible. 

This kiss feels more like sex, it’s Derek’s tongue probing into his mouth, it’s small bites and a lot of intense eye contact when he comes up for air.

Stiles needs to get this show on the road. He’s still nervous about giving his first blow job, but Derek’s doing an amazing job of reassuring him, even if that’s not what he’s really trying to do. Stiles truly feels like Derek’s into this and it’s giving him the courage to move along to his part of the equation. 

He brings his legs up around Derek to hook his toes in Derek’s nice pants, “take these off.”

“Are you sure?” Derek asks, and Stiles sees the character overlaying real Derek. Real Derek knows this is okay, has Stiles’ permission from earlier. But real Derek also insists on bringing consent and safe sex into their version of porn, which Stiles stands by, so character Derek asks for verbal permission.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Stiles manages to say while simultaneously reaching his hands down to get Derek’s pants open. “Off, please. I want to feel you.”

“You want to feel me, huh?” Derek speaks into Stiles’ mouth, still unbearably close and not close enough, “You want to feel something like this?” He grinds even harder into Stiles and Stiles’ vision almost whites out.

“You can’t do that, man, you’re going to make me come already and I want to come with your dick in my mouth,” Stiles whines.

This causes Derek’s grind to stutter for a second. “Really?”

Stiles attempts to look demure. He’s never been demure a day in his life, but that’s why this is acting and not just a straight up sex tape.

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking,” he remembers Derek looking at him through his lashes and tries to do that. He’s not sure if he’s succeeding but catches a glance of Derek and he looks into it, so it must be working. “I felt so good when you blew me the other day, I’m curious about what it feels like, you know, giving rather than receiving.”

Derek pretends to think. He pulls a hand up to rub his chin and everything, the dork. Stiles huffs out a laugh. Derek pushes down Stiles body while he stands and whispers to his dick, “I’ll see you later buddy. I’ll come back for you.”

Stiles blinks. Blinks again. “Did you just talk to my dick?”

Derek stands completely, ready to switch positions with Stiles, “Um, yeah?”

Stiles shakes his head, already mentally editing this part out of the video. It doesn’t fit—it’s too much like Real Derek. “Why is that so cute? I hate that I think that’s so cute. Stop talking to my dick.”

“I’ll talk to whoever I want to, asshole,” Derek sits down on the bed, now facing the wall with the TV and finally able to see every angle.

“Well definitely don’t talk to my asshole,” Stiles stands before Derek, bravely places his hands on Derek’s thighs.

These are a man’s thighs, Stiles squeezes them. He’s noticed Derek’s legs before, seen him in bathing suits at the lake on hot summer days, he’s seen him fresh out of the shower. They’re roommates and lifelong friends, it’s not weird. At least he never took baths with Derek like he did with Scott. These legs, though.... He remembers admiring them when Derek started to turn from coltish teen to the pantomime of a man, remembers chalking it up to jealousy and moving on. 

He’s seen Derek take leg day way too seriously back when he punished himself with workouts. The vestiges of those days can still be found in the cords of muscle that makes up these glorious thighs.

Stiles hesitantly lowers himself to his knees, a bit like a geriatric patient. His already overworked mental filter shifts into overdrive, there are so many thoughts fighting to come out of his mouth and dammit this is supposed to be sexy and babbling on is not sexy but he’s just nervous. So of course his mouth decides to spit out the most embarrassing thing it could possibly come up with right now.

“God, I’ve had such dirty thoughts about these thighs,” and surprisingly it rings true.

He feels his face flush and hopes that Derek puts it down to the situation. He powers through the awkward moment and doesn’t give Derek a chance to even respond. He’s tugging on Derek’s fly with his right hand, the left still rubbing up and down on Derek’s thigh. He feels Derek’s erection under his hand and can’t mentally process the thought. 

“C’mon, get naked. I want to see you without these clothes.”

Derek bats Stiles’ hands out of the way to undo his button and zipper. He lifts his hips off the bed and Stiles helps him pull the pants off. Stiles recognizes the red briefs Derek’s wearing as a present from his own father.

“A man needs a man’s underwear,” he’d said at Christmas that year and Stiles feels his heart throb because Derek and Scott no longer have a father worth a shit, but they also kind of do? Stiles’ dad is a pseudo dad to them just like Melissa is a mother-adjacent figure in his own life. He remembers feeling pleased that Derek still has a man around to help him grow into not-a-piece-of-shit like his own father.

“Wow, not the time to be thinking about this,” Stiles mutters to himself. Stiles shakes himself out of his thoughts and realizes for all intents and purposes, he’s been staring at Derek’s crotch for too long. 

Game time, Stiles thinks. He is definitely not intimidated by the hard cock inches from his face. It’s large. Larger than he thought and then berates himself for even thinking about it at all, even as a passing fancy.

Of course he’s thought about it, his director brain argues, who wants to watch porn with a dude with the smallest penis in the world? Well, someone probably. It’s totally not weird to have actively thought about Derek’s hard dick size.

Stiles is about to start spiraling. So he does what Stiles does best when he reaches the ultimate consequences of his own ideas, he jumps.

“Okay,” he says, grabbing the hem of Derek’s red briefs, “okay, I’m obviously new to this. You have to tell me if it’s like completely horrible, alright? I don’t want to be known as the bad at BJs guy.”

Derek reaches a hand out and cups Stiles’ face and fuck if it doesn’t reassure him, “who’s going to call you the bad at BJs guy? Does this look like fucking show and tell?”

Stiles raises an eyebrow, even in this moment, but c’mon, this is literally porn. 

“I’m not going to go gossiping about your technique okay?” Derek’s hand migrates from his cheek around the back of his head and pushes minutely until Stiles gets the heavy handed hint. “Besides, it’s you. I’ve been dreaming about you blowing me since I saw those cock sucking lips, you literally can’t be bad at this. Not with that mouth.”

The words flow over Stiles and that’s the first thing that hasn’t sounded like Real Derek in as many minutes. He pulls the briefs down and focuses on getting them off completely. Suddenly there are no other barriers and he’s nose to cock.

“You have to have a perfect cock, too?”

“You can’t possibly be jealous. You have the best dick ever. I love your dick,” Derek stares heavy lidded eyes at Stiles.

“Yeah, I know you and my dick are besties. You can’t wait to get even more acquainted.” 

“Stiles,” Derek says and it has the hint of a whine behind it.

“Alright, here I go,” Stiles says and jumps in completely. He goes too hard on the first exploration, finding himself gagging almost instantaneously.

“Slow, slow, slow,” Derek says, using the hand on the back of Stiles’ head to pull him back. “Start off slower than that. Work up to it. Try using your hand a bit.”

Stiles’ eyes are watering and he’s sure his blush has only gotten worse with this humiliation. He brings his right hand up grab Derek’s dick, a little too hard based on the slight wince from Derek. He wants to make this good. Derek took such good care of him last time. But Derek has years of experience sucking cock.

Stiles doesn’t let obstacles get in his way—he got Dr. Deaton to love Scott, he got them to serve vegetarian dishes in the high school cafeteria for Danny, and he’s not going to let his pride and lack of experience keep him from giving Derek the best orgasm of his life.

He wants to grit his teeth in determination, but realizes that’s going to be counter productive to his end goal and squeezes Derek’s beautiful thighs instead. He pulls Derek’s dick towards him and, taking his advice, goes slowly this time. He tentatively licks the head, and feels Derek vibrate with pleasure. 

Really? Just from that? He licks it again, deciding he likes the salty taste. He’s always preferred salty things over sweet and while he wouldn’t consider this the world’s best tasting thing, he doesn’t hate it.

When he gets comfortable with licking the tip, he starts running his tongue down the sides of the shaft, following the vein and landing in Derek’s closely cropped pubes. What a bro, keeping it tight like that. No one wants pubes in their face.

He registers Derek’s pleasure, but his focus is on this new task. He licks all the way down to Derek’s balls, deciding that he doesn’t mind the licking. It’s just skin at the end of the day. 

“Stiles, please,” Derek begs and—oh yeah. Stiles hears the desperation in his voice. He glances up and wow Derek looks wrecked already and he’s barely begun. Derek grabs his dick with his own hands and places it on Stiles’ lower lip. “Please, please, Stiles, God you look good with my dick in your mouth.”

Starting to like the feeling of power over Derek, Stiles slowly opens his mouth, allowing the tip the breach his lips. Never say that Stiles can’t learn from the past. This time he goes slowly, heeding Derek’s advice to the point that Derek goes crazy.

“Stiles,” he whines again and Stiles lets it feed his ego, but he doesn’t change his pace. He’s not here to be choked. At least not before he masters the basics.

Stiles sucks softly on the head, getting a feel for this before he moves on. Just like the licking, it’s not bad once he accustoms to it. People have speculated in the past that Stiles has an oral fixation and they wouldn’t be wrong. He allows more of Derek’s shaft to pass between his lips until he’s holding as much as he can without hitting his gag reflex.

“That’s it,” Derek says, slipping into professor mode and God that’s awkwardly hot. Stiles cannot find that arousing at all, except that he maybe sort of does, “Now you know your baseline. You know how it goes from here.” He shifts his hips very gently, but enough to prod Stiles’ memory.

Not that Stiles needs the reminder. Stiles has a very clear memory of this from exactly a week ago. He hasn’t been able to not remember it.

Bobbing his head, Stiles uses his hand to ground himself on Derek’s hip and the other to reach the parts of his dick that Stiles’ mouth can’t reach. He gives it the old college try, testing out different patterns and frequencies until he lands on one that works for him—his hands and jaw working together to bring Derek the most pleasure and also cause him the least amount of pain. No one mentioned that his jaw would hurt this much. Is this normal? Is this like a stamina thing? Like you have to build up jaw muscles and then you can go longer?

He’s reaching the end of his rope when Derek’s hips start twitching, like he can’t help moving them. The hand that’s been resting so respectfully at the back of Stiles’ head starts pulling his hair and Stiles is made aware that his own boner has not gone away and would very much like attention. It’s like the roots of his hair follicles are attached to his cock because the harder Derek pulls, the harder he gets.

“Stiles, Stiles, I’m—“ Derek tries to warn him. They didn’t discuss come placement, but Stiles’ dad didn’t raise a quitter or a spitter, so Stiles pushes through his jaw pain, looks up to see how Derek’s doing and when their eyes meet, instantly has a load of come in his mouth. He tries to swallow, he does, but it comes out too fast so he feels some sliding down his face.

Derek moans as Stiles jacks the rest of his orgasm out with his hand and man Stiles has to admire his O face. It’s pretty impressive, even for an all around good face like Derek’s. Stiles decides he likes it. 

Stiles starts to stand, ready to cut off the cameras and start tearing down the room so Scott can return. He’ll deal with his hard on in the shower later, he’s used to jerking off twice a day anyway. Derek, still blissed out, has other ideas. 

“C’mere,” he mutters, sitting back up and pulling Stiles the rest of the way to his feet so that’s he’s standing between Derek’s knees once again. “Let me,” he says so quietly that Stiles has to strain to hear him over his still pounding heart.

Derek’s hand finds quick rhythm on Stiles’ cock and he whimpers when it only takes a couple strokes to bring him off. He comes on his own stomach and all over Derek’s hand, seeing white behind his eyes. 

His chest feels hot as it pumps up and down, and he can see his skin is flushed under the gleam of wet come. Derek stands up and now they’re naked and standing toe to toe and only now is Stiles starting to feel uncomfortable, looking straight into Derek’s eyes.

Derek smiles and reaches over to place a gentle kiss on Stiles’ forehead. It’s not until Derek whispers, “you did so good,” that Stiles realizes this is from Real Derek to him, not the shell of a character who just blew him. And Stiles, the creature who’s always hungered for Derek’s approval, for Derek’s respect, for Derek’s attention, almost purrs in pleasure. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

Stiles nods, uncharacteristically unwilling to break his silence for reasons unknown even to himself. 

“C’mon, you get first shower. Brush your teeth.”


	8. Chapter 8

After a shower and uploading all the video to his laptop, cleaning all the memory cards and readying everything to go back to where it belongs tomorrow, Stiles throws himself dramatically onto the couch in the living room. His muscles are looser than usual the way they only are after a really good jerking off session and Stiles is starting to believe that maybe he’s been having bad sex his whole life.

“Have I been having bad sex this whole time?” he says aloud to the empty room.

“How should I know?” Derek ignores the way Stiles jumps at the sound of his voice.

“Let’s not talk about that.”

Derek shrugs, falling onto the couch next to Stiles. “Netflix?”

“We’re just going to go straight to Netflix?”

“Well we already took care of the ‘chill’ portion of the evening, didn’t we?”

Stiles supposes he’s right. He pulls up Netflix (shared with his dad) and goes for the history documentaries—the only genre at large that he and Derek will always 100% of the time agree on. He’s not in the mood to argue, even superficially.

They share the couch as Stiles feels his eyelids droop to the droll tones of the narrator discussing the Agricultural Revolution during the Neolithic Age.

“Hey,” Derek says twenty minutes in, nudging his leg against Stiles’, “We need to do something normal together.”

“This isn’t normal?” Stiles nods towards the television.

“No, we need to do something normal outside of this apartment. Or I’m going to go insane.”

“Insane with lust for my body?” 

Derek doesn’t bother rolling his eyes, but Stiles knows that he wants to. “You mean I’m not already?”

Stiles snorts. 

“Seriously. Let’s do something fun—see a movie, or go to the bowling alley. We can even bring Scott.”

“You and I are not allowed within thirty feet of a bowling alley together,” Stiles remarks, still lethargic from a long week and a satisfying orgasm, “Judge Scott decreed it so and I have to say I agree with him on this one.”

“If you’re scared to lose again—“

This makes Stiles perk up, he points a finger dangerously in Derek’s stupidly pretty face, “I didn’t lose and you know it. You totally cheated and—“

“You’re just mad you didn’t think of it first.”

“I’m totally not arguing that, dude.”

The door slams open loudly enough to jar Stiles from his comfortable conjoined twinning into the couch and saves them from this argument. Stiles is grateful, he still doesn’t think he’s up for an argument with Derek. About anything. 

“Is it safe?” Scott calls from the door behind them. Stiles uses the vestiges of his strength to raise his head up and peer over the top of the couch, backwards, to see Scott entering the apartment with one hand over his eyes.

“No,” Stiles says at the same time Derek says, “We’re still mid-coitus.”

Stiles throws a hand over to Derek’s half of the couch for a high five. “Nice,” he says, constant allies in annoying Scott.

“Seriously?” Scott whines, from what Stiles can see of him, his hand has tightened over his face rather than risk letting it down to take a look.

“No, you idiot,” Stiles sinks back into his favorite cushion. It has a permanent Stiles ass indention for proof. 

“We told you we were using the big bedroom for all extra curricular activities,” Derek says, “plus I texted you it was safe to come home, so.”

“You could have kept going or something,” Scott says, his voice moving and Stiles hears the ritual of him putting his keys on the counter and then the fridge open. Hopefully he’s putting things into it instead of deducting from their meager stores.

“Doesn’t work that way,” Stiles reminds him, “Hey, did you just come back from the grocery store?”

“Hotdog buns and almost expired chicken today, bros.”

“Tonight we eat like kings,” Derek whispers to Stiles and he feels chills go down his arms. 

Loud enough for Scott to hear, Stiles says, “Thanks for dinner, Scott. God, I’m starving. I haven’t eaten all day.” Truthfully he’d been too anxious to eat. 

“Stiles you can’t keep just not eating all day. You know your medication doesn’t react well with an empty stomach.”

Stiles snickers, “I mean, I consumed a couple calories, but not like a full meal, you know?”

“Snacks don’t cut it,” Scott says, rummaging around in the kitchen. Hopefully this means he’s going to cook the chicken and bring it to Stiles here on the couch, his new home on the couch that he never wants to leave.

“Yeah, it wasn’t exactly a snack,” Stiles mutters and Derek groans next to him. 

“That’s too cruel. Don’t do that to him,” he pats Stiles’ leg as he stands up. The Hale brothers cook a fine meal of chicken shaped hotdogs and with enough ketchup, they’re almost edible. Stiles has three. 

  
Stiles finds out early Saturday that Derek was very serious about doing something non-porn related together, probably in an effort to not see Stiles’ dick every time he closes his eyes. Stiles relates a little too hard to that and it’s the only reason he agrees to get out of bed before 8:00am on a Saturday. 

The plan, in his mind, was to tackle the video editing the second he sees the bottom of his coffee cup at breakfast around 10:00am, when normal college age people with no obligations wake up. He has a shift at Starbucks in the evening and he wants the project done and behind him as soon as possible. 

Instead, Derek sits on him before the sun is even up and insists they go hiking. Stiles sees Scott zombie-ing around the room behind Derek and the betrayal is raw. Scott loves shit like this.

With prodding and minimal bodily threats, the Hale brothers force Stiles off the couch (guess who had the short stick this week), pour a gallon of coffee down his throat, and load him into their shared ‘07 Honda Accord. Stiles doesn’t even bother to fight over being in the back seat, he welcomes death. 

Stiles looks between Scott and Derek, keeping an open ear to their small talk and notes the similarities between them. To other people, they couldn’t be more different—Scott is outgoing, sweet, caring, easily approachable, while Derek is brooding, untouchable, highly cerebral, all horrible ways of calling him rude and isolated. Yet, being in the Hales’ inner sanctum, Stiles knows that both of them are more like their mother than anything else—warm, intelligent, driven, and entirely too empathetic. 

When he was in middle school, Stiles watched Derek bond with a stray senior dog that lived in the woods behind their house. 

All those freshmen that turn up at his office hours religiously would be shocked to learn that about him—to them he’s just a good looking dude that they have no real chance with. He’s like a celebrity, a safe fantasy that they know they’ll never have. Stiles understands that, he just feels bad for them that they don’t see Derek deeper than that. 

It sucks for Derek too, Stiles thinks. He’s surrounded by people who desire him, but don’t want him. Not really. 

“It’s too early for deep thinking, bro,” Scott says.

“It’s too early for a lot of things,” Stiles says, finally looking out the window to see just where they’re going. They’re about fifteen minutes from the apartment and Stiles swears they’ve only been in the car for five. 

“C’mon Stiles,” Derek turns left, cutting off another driver casually, like he owns the road, “this’ll be fun. You’ve been talking about exercising more.”

“Yeah, but this isn’t what I meant.”

“Well, then be careful what you wish for,” Scott says, impersonating Gandalf or something by the crinkle of amusement Stiles catches in his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah.”

Surprisingly, Stiles enjoys the hike. Derek leads the way, barely breathing hard but granting a great view of the ass that Stiles avoids looking at too closely. He’s seen enough of Derek recently. Scott walks beside Stiles, just as not used to this as him, but they tease each other all the way to the top.

The three of them haven’t had a chance to hang out and do something fun since the last week of summer when Derek’s summer classes and Scott’s internship ended. Stiles loves the dynamic of the three of them. Even when they were younger and Derek was too cool for Scott and Stiles, they were a family. 

Stiles pushes the clear air into and out of his lungs, taking in the smell of the trees and the dirt trail and feels weightless for once. 

“This was a good idea,” he admits at the top of the trail. Derek led them up a mountain and now Stiles has a remarkable visage of the valleys around Los Angeles. It’s beautiful in its way, rustic and harsh. He can’t remember the last time he went voluntarily into nature, probably sometime in Beacon Hills with exactly the same two people he’s with now.

Derek walks up next to him, leans his arms on the fence holding them back from toppling over the cliff, “so you do admit it.”

Stiles watches Scott in the distance, making friends with someone’s Rottweiler. That’s so Scott. You can take him out of the vet’s office but you can’t take the vet out of him. Or something like that. There’s an innuendo in there somewhere.

“I can admit when I’m wrong about things,” Stiles says, avoiding Derek’s eyes.

“Rarely,” Derek huffs.

“I’m very rarely wrong,” Stiles says back. 

They’re quiet for a moment, something also rare for Stiles, before Derek breaks the silence. “I’m glad you came. I really needed this.”

“Communing with nature,” Stiles teases, “like the true mountain man you are.”

Derek half way nods, conceding the point. “Yeah, but I needed you with me. I needed to hang out and not in the apartment.”

Stiles realizes that he hasn’t given much thought to how Derek is handling all this. He’s been in his own head, dealing with his own crises. 

“That’s cool, man. I get it. It’s weird seeing you for a few seconds a week, to fucking around, and then not seeing you at all.”

Derek looks pensively out over Los Angeles and Stiles is reminded painfully of how beautiful he is. The morning light hits him right in his eyes and they turn luminous.

“Do you,” Stiles begins, stumbling over his words a bit, “do you need to stop?” He moves closer to Derek, rests his shoulder against Derek’s, something that usually brings comfort to both of them. Derek is more tactile than he’d like the world to think he is and physical touch always grounds him. “Because we can stop any time you want. I won’t be mad. I won’t hold anything against you, you know that.”

Derek quirks a half smile, “I do know that. And, no, I’m good. I just needed adjustment time.”

“It’s a lot to adjust to, I’ll give you that,” Stiles admits, “being with a sex god like me? Game changer.”

Derek rolls his eyes, pushes his shoulder harsh enough against Stiles to make him flail and says, “weren’t you the one yesterday asking God and sundry if you’ve been having bad sex before me?”

“That was a private thought,” Stiles whines.

“Then you shouldn’t have said it out loud.”

“I didn’t know I was!”

Derek finally looks over and Stiles knows he’s about to be devastated by the predatory gleam in his eye, “because I melted your brain with my awesome sex?”

Stiles screams in rage, “I hate you!” They start maturely wrestling—kicking up rocks and dirt that settles grittily on Stiles’ skin.

“You two having a blast, then?” Scott says, pulling a laughing Derek off of Stiles.

“I hate your brother,” Stiles tells Scott, deciding he’s not talking to Derek. He forgets about that by the time they’re back to the car.

  
His shift runs smoothly that night at Starbucks, Erica gets her camera back in the same excellent condition, and Isaac not so subtly asks about Scott.

Stiles got a few more hours of sleep between mountain climbing and coffee making. In the privacy of his own head, he admits that Derek probably had the right idea about getting out of the apartment together for non-porn related things. Especially since Stiles is about to spend a big chunk of his Sunday staring at Derek and re-living the latest experience. 

At least Derek is nice to look at it.

He grabs an almost stale muffin from the case on his way out that night and walks back to the death apartment. He talks with his dad briefly, promising to call more often. It’s nice to hear his voice. He asks about the boys and Stiles gives him the latest news on Derek’s thesis and Scott’s coveted hours at the vet clinic. 

They hang up as Stiles treks up the stairs to the apartment. When he walks in, Scott and Derek are arguing about whatever show they’re watching on the TV. He salutes and heads to the little bedroom, it’s his week for a bed as of this evening, and grabs his laptop to start editing the porn.

He debates checking the stats on the first video again but decides against it in the end. 

Hours fly by and Stiles manages to take out the audio of Derek saying his real name while Stiles was sucking his dick. He’ll have to remember to remind Derek not to do that. Now that he edited the first video, this one goes by much faster. He has the rhythm down. By 2:00am he thinks he has a rough cut and emails it to Derek with the subject “caution: ur kinky p0rn inside.”

Then he passes out.

“Are you sure you want to try doing this again,” Scott says on Sunday at the plasma clinic.

“Until the porn starts generating revenue, and it will, I’m going to need more money,” Stiles replies, sinking further into his chair. Just because you faint one time while donating blood and plasma, suddenly you’re ‘weak’ and ‘delicate.’

“Mr. Stilinski,” a nurse calls into the waiting area. It’s the same red head from the last time he donated and by the look in her eye, she clearly remembers him too. That’s not a good sign. This is not a place you want to be memorable. 

“You again,” she says leading him back to the machine, “you sure you’re up for it this time, champ?”

Her condescension is not appreciated.

Stiles grits his teeth, “yes.” He sits in the chair while she grabs a clipboard. “Where do I sign?”

“We still have your questionnaire on file from last time. Has anything changed?”

Does gay porn count as a change? “Still no STDs and I didn’t take my Adderall this morning.”

She nods and pushes the clip board over for him to sign. He signs and hands it back over, laying back in the chair to stare at the ceiling. “Let’s get this over with.”

The red head volunteer raises an eyebrow, “thank you for your donation.”

He doesn’t pass out this time, but he definitely gets light headed. He counts it as a win.


	9. Chapter 9

Friday arrives kicking and screaming. For most of the campus, Halloween springs up like a jack-in-the-box in orange leaves, fake cobwebs, and skeleton window decorations in the Starbucks. To Stiles, Halloween is a blow to the head of grief. His mom loved Halloween above all other holidays—she had a spooky playlist blasting from every room in the house, she made graveyard brownies, and she made hand sewn costumes for Stiles every year. The Stilinski house was the town haunted house every year, despite the Hales all year round creepy house out in the Preserve. Stiles’ mother adored Halloween like some people adore Christmas and this year October snuck up on him. 

He prefers to mentally prepare for his grief because the surprise of it makes it a hundred times heavier, an anvil to the head rather than a hammer.

So it’s with a heavy heart that he makes his way through Friday, knowing that if he gives into the grief, he’ll lose an entire day of productivity to wallowing. 

He doesn’t know whether to be happy or sad that no one seems to notice—Scott and Derek are so busy with their own schedules that they aren’t around to catch his shortened sentences and lack of run ons. Erica, bless her, even though they don’t have a shift together today, chalks it up to being nervous about the upcoming encounter with Derek and gives him space when he goes to get her video camera. They haven’t had the whole dead mom conversation yet, for all the talk they do while making overpriced and over sugared coffee drinks.

To top off a spectacularly bad day, Stiles knows that tonight’s video adventure is going to put him more out of his comfort zone than ever before. In his initial outline, he knew they needed to build up to full on anal and he balanced need with his own self-knowledge that he’s not going to be able to jump straight into it. So he added ‘butt stuff’ before he allows Derek to fuck him, because come on, Derek’s got to fuck him. He’s got ‘top’ written all over him—that’s the fantasy, a hot guy like Derek getting to fuck the kinda cute if you squint twink straight guy. Stiles knows his porn.

He’s experimented a bit, after recovering from the debacle with Julie and her wandering fingers. The gap of knowledge in having toys and vibrators in his butt makes him more nervous than sucking Derek’s dick. At least that was upfront. He’s been on the other side of it and knows what to expect there—he’s never had anything up his ass before, except the fingers that he was completely in control of the entire time. 

With this in mind, he washes very thoroughly in the shower about ten minutes before he expects Derek to return. It’s very hard to remind yourself not to think about your dead mom while you’re cleaning your own asshole, for the record. 

Derek turns up a minute or two early, just as the pot of coffee finishes brewing. Stiles dresses again in basketball shorts and a t-shirt. He’s going to have to borrow some basketball shorts from either Derek or Scott if he wants to have a different outfit every video. He’s going to start repeating outfits soon if he keeps this up. 

Somehow he doesn’t think Scott will want his basketball shorts back after his brother fucks him in them.

“Long day?” Derek asks and it’s only then that Stiles realizes he hasn’t even really greeted him.

“Sorry, yeah,” he says, turning to look Derek in the eye and give him his complete attention, “just thinking about what’s coming up. I just cleaned areas of my body I’ve never touched before, so, you know. There’s some contemplation going on.”

“Toys today, right?”

Stiles nods, wishing he could drink a cup of coffee too just to have something to do with his hands and mouth, but weighted against the odds of it running right through him keeps him from indulging. That’s not something he could ever come back from. Especially after all that talk during their kink discussion about shitting on each other and how over the line that is. So definitely no coffee.

Which is a real shame because it smells delicious.

“Do you,” Derek places the now empty Hello Kitty mug on the counter, “do you have the toys? I mean, we didn’t even really discuss what toy I’m using on you, did we?”

“I figured we could use the vibrator I never got around to using,” Stiles says, remembering the triumph from last year when he managed to get a wholesale discount on a rather good vibrator meant for anal play. Once he got it in the mail, though, he found himself too intimidated to properly test it out. 

Scott had found it hidden in the bottom drawer of the little bedroom’s nightstand and at first accused Derek, only to have his disgust turn to glee when they realized the vibrator actually belonged to Stiles and they could rip into him mercilessly.

Stiles found reasons to avoid them that week.

“Finally going to test it out, huh?”

“Have you seen that thing? I didn’t know what to do with it. It has too many settings and it’s huge!” Stiles grabs the vibrator from the little bedroom and plops it on the counter by Derek. He looks down at it with an inquisitive look on his face. 

“It’s not that big, it’s a very normal size.” 

Stiles huffs, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter.

“Let me make sure I know how to work it,” Derek says and he looks down his glasses at the pink vibrator, pushing a few buttons. The vibrator buzzes and parts of it twirl, reminding Stiles of some strange sea anemone from the deep ocean exhibit at the aquarium. 

Derek must sense the trepidation radiating off of Stiles because he says gently, “Why did you even get this if you had no intention of using it?” 

Stiles pushes up onto the counter, sitting comfortably while Derek continues to test out the toy. “It was on sale a ridiculous amount, I thought it might be my only chance. I don’t know, man. I used my plasma money and I think I was still lightheaded when I made the decision. I can’t be held accountable for decisions made under duress.”

“Uh huh,” Derek says and it’s probably the same response he’s gotten a million times over the years. Stiles’ back shivers at the familiarity. 

Derek spins the vibrator in his hand—it’s a neat trick—and then looks to Stiles. “I think I have the hang of it. Let me shower and then I’m ready to go.”

Stiles nods, “I’ll do one last check on the equipment.”

“Put this on the charger again,” Derek throws the vibrator and by the grace of the porn gods, Stiles manages to catch it awkwardly, “I’d hate if it turned off in the middle of the shoot.”

Stiles thinks this might be a good suggestion, “look at you using words like ‘shoot.’ My little director brain is so proud of you.”

Derek winks, “I know things.”

“Go shower,” Stiles jumps off the counter, “You stink.”

Ten minutes later finds Derek on top of Stiles, both of them sans shirt. This time, he makes a big deal about exploring every part of Stiles’ body. They’ve got to fill out the time, so Stiles goes along with it. Derek is really taking one for the team like this and Stiles is definitely not complaining. He likes the feel of Derek on top of him, he remembers that from last time. He also likes the way Derek’s tongue edges along every inch of his chest. He pays proper attention to his nipples and Stiles wonders if Derek now keeps a mental file in his head labeled “things that turn Stiles on” and gasps when he realizes that he has one of those for Derek as well. 

Derek laves at his collar bone and Stiles remembers that Derek’s character confessed to loving those before so he’s clearly trying to keep to his character. Stiles allows his hands to wander Derek’s back—it’s so muscular and strong. He may be as tall and as broad as Derek now, and Stiles as a child never would have imagined he’d be equal to Derek somehow, but Derek is still all hard muscles and power. Derek’s skin is smooth under his fingers.The hair on his head is soft when he finds it moments later.

Derek sucks hard on a nipple and Stiles moans in a way that he would call pornographic before he actually ventured into porn—now he just calls it enthusiastic. 

“I want to play with you,” Derek says, taking the second his sentence takes to register in Stiles’ brain to blow lightly on the now reddened nipple. RIP nips. They’ll never be the same again.

“How?” Stiles asks, trying to make his eyes look huge. He’s been told by a reliable source (Scott) that he looks more innocent when his eyes are bigger.

Stiles is rarely innocent and he’s never been naive. A sheriff for a dad and a dead mother take any naïveté before they cover the grave.

How could he have forgotten his mom? Would she hate that her son is doing porn? Mothers tend to not be too excited to find out their barely legal sons are making sex movies. His mom had such a good sense of humor and a unconventional streak a mile wide, so she might have surprised him. She always loved Derek, so she’d probably even find this pretty hilarious. 

An ache of sorrow settles in his stomach and creeps up into his throat, making it itchy. This is why he likes to compartmentalize his grief—so it doesn’t hit him unexpectedly. 

He shakes his head discretely, this isn’t the time to think about this. This is the time to think about sexy things. About Derek things. 

“I want to open you up,” Derek’s saying and Stiles struggles to pick up their conversation.

“You can’t fuck me, you can’t—“

“Shhh,” Derek says, putting his finger over Stiles’ mouth. Stiles sees an opportunity and opens his mouth enough to allow Derek’s finger to slip inside. “I won’t fuck you, not yet. But I think you’d like some fingers. What do you say?”

Stiles sucks harder on the finger and Derek’s eyes glaze over.

“Yeah,” Derek says, “you’re going to love this. I can tell.” 

He slides the finger out of Stiles’ mouth, pecks him sweetly on the lips and pulls the lube out of his back pocket. 

“I’ve never had anything,” Stiles gulps over dramatically, “up there before.”

“It’s going to feel so good, trust me.” He sits back onto his legs, now towering over a still lying Stiles, “turn over. It’ll be easier and I can see what I’m doing.”

Stiles flips over as gracefully as he can manage. Like a hippo.

“Good,” Derek praises him, settling in between his legs, “now I’m going to take your shorts off so I can see you, alright?”

Stiles nods into the pillow, and he assumes Derek catches it. He can’t see the television from this angle, but they tested it before the scene began, so he’s hoping it’s capturing everything. 

Fingers do feel good, Stiles decides. Derek finds his prostate and flirts with it, sending buzzes of energy to his dick. He’s used to a finger or two of his own up there, so the stretching is minimal.

Two fingers come quickly, and now Derek slows to help accommodate the stretch. His fingers are wider than Stiles’ but he still hits the prostate on every thrust. 

Stiles is making sounds he didn’t know he could make—it’s sooo much better when it’s someone else’s fingers. How did he live before he knew he could feel this good? Derek’s not even touching his dick.

His face smooshes into the pillow and he’s honestly glad Derek can’t see how stupid his face must look right now. He’s soaring with pleasure as Derek slips a third finger in, the stretch on just the wrong side of painful until something snaps and it just feels good. He moans through Derek scissoring his fingers until abruptly the fingers disappear.

“Are you ready for the vibrator now?” Stiles feels like he was about to walk over a cliff and someone snatched him by the neck off the edge—but in a bad way. He wanted to go over the cliff. Maybe he was cliff diving.

Twisting around to be able to see Derek, Stiles only has eyes for the obnoxiously pink vibrator. It’s already lubed up under Derek’s glistening fingers. His mother hated the color pink.

Once again, not the time to be thinking about her.

“Yeah, let’s do this,” he turns back to the pillow. Derek grabs a spare pillow and throws it under Stiles’ hips to raise them higher. It’s a bit humiliating in this position and Stiles can’t name the reason. 

When Derek places the vibrator at his opening, he already knows this isn’t going to be great. His first reaction is that it’s cold. It’s not warm like Derek’s fingers, the same temperature as Stiles—like Derek’s fingers are an extension of his own body. The toy slips farther in and Stiles thinks Derek might be saying something but he can’t focus past the uncomfortable feeling of the toy inside him.

On a surface level, he feels the pleasure. Derek finds his prostate right away, but even as the toy warms to his own temperature, it feels wrong and, and just unnatural. 

“Derek, stop, stop, red,” Stiles says and the balloon of emotion he’s been toting around like a little girl at Disney World explodes. His face scrunches up and he’s sobbing uncontrollably and Stiles doesn’t know who he is anymore. He doesn’t feel like himself. He doesn’t feel real. 

“Hey,” he hears Derek say so so softly, brings his hands to smooth Stiles’ cheeks, like he can wipe them right back up into Stiles’ eyes like this whole thing didn’t happen. Stiles almost thinks he can. If anyone has that kind of control over Stiles’ body, it’s Derek.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey,” Derek’s delicate hands force Stiles to look into his eyes and he has the realization that the vibrator is no longer inside him but the swell of unrelated emotion still is and Derek’s face in all its familiarity is more comforting than he would have thought about two weeks ago.

“Derek,” he says and the cusp of a panic attack rears its ugly head, “Derek, my mom.”

He sees the understanding dawn in Derek’s multicolored eyes and Derek gently brings Stiles’ forehead to his lips and it makes Stiles cry harder.

“I almost,” he fights through the sobs to say, “I almost forgot her. What kind of son am I?”

Derek rearranges them to pull Stiles into his chest, the skin to skin contact grounding Stiles, so different from the sexual tension it created not ten minutes ago. Stiles always wants to be close to Derek. It’s safe near Derek. He’s the best version of himself near Derek.

“You’re the best kind of son, what kind of question is that, Stiles?” Derek settles behind Stiles, leaning his back onto Derek’s muscular chest. This leaves Stiles with room to breathe—Derek must know he’s looking down the barrel of a panic attack. “You didn’t forget her, you could never forget her. This is her favorite time of year, it’s natural to think about her now.”

Derek rubs his arms slowly, enough to bring his heart rate down and allow his breathing to slow and the tears to disappear entirely. They sit quietly for minutes, Stiles isn’t sure how long. He tries to match his breathing to Derek’s, their chests moving as one being and Stiles inappropriately remembers that Shakespeare quote about the beast with two backs, except like inverted and it doesn’t even make sense because this is way less sexy than what they were doing when all this came on, but somehow the tenderness of the moment feels way more intimate than Derek’s fingers in Stiles’ asshole.

That’s saying something.

“Hey,” Stiles says an indeterminate amount of time later, “thanks for stopping. Sorry I got all weird about my dead mom in the middle.”

Derek turns his head to speak directly into Stiles’ ear and minute goose bumps pop up on his skin. “I told you going into this that I would stop the second you gave the word. Don’t thank me for being a normal fucking human being.”

Stiles nods, not eager to move away from Derek’s warm presence. “So, do you want to try again or call it a day?”

“I’ll leave that decision up to you. I’m down for whatever. We can try this again or something else, I don’t care.”

Stiles nods, still unwilling to move away from Derek.

“It’s going to take me a second to get hard again,” Derek murmurs. 

“Uncontrollable sobbing doesn’t get you going?” Stiles reaches his hips back and yeah, Derek’s not ready to play again yet. He gives a slow grind and feels Derek breathe heavily into his ear.

“Surprisingly no, sobbing isn’t much of a turn on,” Derek pushes his hips up into Stiles’ in response to the grinding. “But twinks with perfect hands and big brown eyes are, apparently.”

Stiles feels Derek’s cock start to stiffen up again and lets his head fall back onto Derek’s shoulder. Derek’s hand travels slowly from Stiles’ arm down to his crotch where he’s quickly perking back up as well.

Stiles hums in response. 

“I could eat you out,” Derek suggests and Stiles thinks he must have misheard.

“Wait, really?” 

“I love doing that and you showered so you’re clean,” He feels Derek shrug beneath him, “you hated the toy. Is it all butt stuff or…?”

Stiles shakes his head. “I think it’s the coldness. The vibrator didn’t feel like you? That’s the best way to explain it—I didn’t feel you on the other end and it freaked me out, took me out of my mind in a bad way until it all piled up and I couldn’t deal with anything anymore.”

“Yeah,” Derek says, “I get that. So if you know it’s me, it’s okay?”

“I trust you, you know that. I wouldn’t let just anyone do this to me.”

“But I can eat you out?” Derek asks and Stiles reads a tone of excitement in his voice. Derek must really actually like doing that. Stiles isn’t sure why, he’s gone down on girls before, usually in a deal to get them to go down on him in return, and it isn’t that exciting. It feels like a chore, something to do while he fantasizes about what’s next.

“Sure, Big Guy. Go to town on this buffet.”

“I can’t stand you.”

“It’s all you can eat.”

“Please stop talking before I lose this chub again.”

“Okay okay,” Stiles finally pulls himself away from Derek and gets off the bed. He sneaks a look over at shirtless Derek and his eyes drift down to his bulge. He wants to get his mouth on it. “Should we start completely over? I totally killed the vibe that we had going.”

“We can start from taking our shirts off maybe? So just put your basketball shorts back on and I’ll take it from there.”

Stiles rummages around the room looking for his basketball shorts. He checks his face in the main camera and decides he can pass as debauched rather than “a sobbing mess” a short while ago. If they do this right, no one will be looking at his face anyway, they’ll be focused on Derek’s. 

He settles onto the bed, sitting at the edge with Derek standing between his legs. He’s getting too used to this scenario, it’s starting to feel natural to have Derek here. 

“You good?” Derek’s sharp eyes look Stiles up and down, looking for more chinks in the armor.

Stiles nods, “Do I look like I was weeping because I couldn’t handle a dildo in my ass?”

“Is there a specific look at that screams that? I haven’t actually encountered that before.” 

A reluctant laugh spills out of Stiles, “Am I presentable?”

Derek rolls his eyes and truly that lets Stiles know that all is well in the universe. If Stiles is annoying enough for Derek to roll his eyes, they’re still at the status quo. 

“Are you ever presentable?” Derek says and it feels routine to Stiles, there’s no heat in his words. “Stop fishing for compliments. You know you’re very pretty. I’m not saying it again.”

“You’re very pretty too, Derek,” Stiles reassures him, “face that launched a thousand ships and all that.”

“Stop—“

“Your face is launching this dick,” Stiles pushes his hips forward drawing attention to his hard on.

“I’m about to rock your world and this is what you’re giving me right now?”

Stiles lives for the snark, but a small shadow of the mountain of doubt creeps up on him. “What if I hate that too?” Stiles asks, feeling very small.

Derek puts a hand on Stiles’ head and the association with Derek’s dick down his throat makes his mouth water. Derek’s trying to be reassuring, but Stiles’ boner jumps in his basketball shorts. “Then we’ll stop again. End of story. Just say the word and we’re done.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Derek looks askance.

“Yeah, okay. Same goes for you.”

“We’re in this together,” Derek reminds him.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, “kinda hard to lick your own asshole.”

“Hard to suck your own dick too.”

“Alright, alright,” Stiles shoves Derek’s hand off his head. He’s pretty sure Derek never pulled his hair or anything earlier. He’s not so invested in the continuity that he wants to check the tape, but it should at least be passable. This isn’t free porn where anything goes, after all. This is supposed to be quality shit. “Let’s move this along. Action!”

Stiles finds himself on his back again and as pleasurable as it was last time, it feels ever so different. There’s nothing different about Derek’s body on top of his—it hasn’t changed that much in the last thirty minutes or so. God, it could have been decades they sat there together.

It’s something in the air—like food smells pumped out at Disney World, a subtle difference that enhances the experience.

Derek moves over his body, kissing the same places he’s come to learn make Stiles squirm. In retaliation, Stiles settles his hands in Derek’s hair. Derek hasn’t outright said it, but Stiles thinks he likes the feeling. He’ll roll with it until told differently. 

“Can I eat you out?” Derek asks, his character still very into enthusiastic consent. His hands rest on the hem of Stiles’ basketball shorts and if Stiles isn’t careful, he’s going to start getting a Pavlov boner when he sees a pair of basketball shorts.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, barely recognizing his own voice with how breathy it sounds, “yeah, sure thing. We can do that.”

“Do you want to turn over?” Derek asks, now pulling the shorts down.

Stiles has a mini flashback to being on his stomach for the vibrator incident. “Actually, can we stay like this?” He feels weak for asking, but Derek’s the only one who will know about his breakdown. The audience aren’t going to know he wants to stay on his back in order to see Derek in front of him—to keep the connection, to know he’s safe because this is Derek.

“If you can hold your legs up,” Derek pushes his legs back until Stiles grabs under his own knees and holds them up.

Derek licks teasingly over his dick briefly while he settles down on the bed in front of Stiles. Stiles is big fan of that tongue—probably it’s number one fan. It’s got his vote for MVP.

Achingly slowly, the tongue travels over his balls, onto his perineum until he finds Stiles’ hole. He squeaks when Derek licks at the rim.

Derek laughs and it takes both of them out of the moment. “Did you just squeak?” he asks incredulously.

Stiles lets his legs go for a second. “Shut up, I didn’t expect it to feel that good. I wasn’t ready.”

Derek continues laughing for another beat before he tries to school his face into something sexy, which almost makes Stiles start laughing.

“I don’t know how you weren’t ready, “ Derek says, moving his tongue back to the perineum, “I gave you all the warning in the world. I went super slow.”

“Glaciers move faster than you were moving. I was just shocked you finally got there.”

Derek rolls his eyes and Stiles smirks his victory.

“Can I get back to this now?” He nods towards Stiles’ hole and taking the hint, Stiles pulls his legs back up.

“Yes, please.”

“Well, at least you’re polite today.”

“Please eat my ass,” Stiles says, the need for the last word so ingrained in him that he can’t not say anything. “And action!”

Derek doesn’t react verbally, but he does get back to business and Stiles gets back to trying not to squeak. 


	10. Chapter 10

The day of Halloween consists of Erica texting him begging him to come to some lame party at the Delta Nu house. It’s some friend of a friend of Isaac’s that Erica doesn’t know and Stiles definitely doesn’t know. After he caves, because he was always going to cave, this is Erica who doesn’t really take ‘no’ as an acceptable answer, he then takes to the group chat to convince Scott to go with him because if this goes anything like the last party Erica dragged him to, she’s going to run off to make out with Boyd ten minutes into the party and then straight vodka will sound like a great idea and then before he knows it, he’ll be puking onto Derek’s shoes and getting shit about it for weeks.

It doesn’t take long to get Scott on board once he casually mentions that Kira might be there. That’s not necessarily a lie, either. Who’s to say she won’t be there? She’s just as likely to be there as anywhere else on campus except Scott’s room, where she definitely won’t be. 

Stiles is just optimistic. It’s not his fault Scott is also optimistic.

Neither of them bother to see if Derek wants to go. Historically, he doesn’t and even Stiles’ endless fount of optimism and persuasion skills will eventually run dry. It’s a super power he has to use for the greater good. If he uses it to convince Derek to come to this party, they’ll both be miserable an hour in—Derek because he hates social fun on principal, and Stiles because he spent hours working on Derek to get to him to agree to come and he still isn’t enjoying himself. The only way to get Derek at a party and for him to have a good time, is for it to be his own idea.

Which is exactly what happens this spooky Halloween night. 

“Scott, you ready,” Stiles calls into the bathroom, putting the final touches on his costume. He borrowed some eye liner from Erica, watched a couple tutorials on YouTube to apply it, and put on his only white shirt. Twilight is back in ironically, right? Either way, his ass is Edward Cullen for the night—his hair is just the right amount of disheveled to pull it off these days. At least, Erica said it was a good idea. 

“There’s something wrong with the face paint,” Scott whines. Stiles barges into the bathroom, he’s not sure why Scott even attempted to try to close the door, it’s been broken since before they moved in. Greedy Finstock will probably try to deduct it from their deposit but Stiles has receipts.

In the bathroom, he takes one look at Scott and grabs the paint from his hand. “That’s because you’re doing it wrong, genius.”

He watched a YouTube tutorial on how to apply clown make up too, anticipating this event. Scott had the bright idea to dress as a scary ass clown. Stiles isn’t sure how that’s supposed to win over Kira, but he didn’t question his friend. Scott’s a sort of grown ass man and he can make his dumb decisions on his own. Stiles will facilitate them.

He’s concentrating super hard on painting Scott’s face so he doesn’t hear Derek poke his head into the bathroom. “You guys aren’t ready yet? The text said to be ready at 9:00pm.”

“Shit,” Stiles smears a bit of the paint under Scott’s eye. Didn’t mean to do that. He grabs some toilet paper to wipe it away, but not a lot. They have to make that shit last. “Wear a bell, or something. We’ve been over this.”

“I’m not wearing a bell in my own house,” Derek says, falling into the familiar argument, “you need to just anticipate my movements.”

Stiles doesn’t look away from Scott’s chin while he moves the white paint around. It’s starting to come together now, unfortunately for Scott. “And I can’t anticipate your movements if I have no idea you’re in the house.” He punctuates the statement with a dab to Scott’s face and ignores the flinch. “You never replied in the group chat, so how was I supposed to know to anticipate you joining us?”

He then makes the mistake of looking over to Derek for emphasis. He’s going to give him the old ‘one, two’ with his eye brows, always a killer move. But, Lord Almighty in heaven above must be missing an angel, because Derek Hale stands in the door way with a white wife-beater, tight jeans, a set of fairy looking wings attached to his back, and a shit eating smirk.

Any moisture left in Stiles’ mouth dries up instantly and he swallows. How can someone just look like that? How dare he just go around looking like that? Does he have any idea—?

“Is that glitter?” Scott asks, “all around your,” he points at Derek’s cheek bones and son of a mother fucking bitch he’s right. Derek has a line of glitter on the top of his cheek bones, highlighting his face. Stiles watched a lot of beauty guru videos today, he spiraled a bit, okay, and now he knows things like where the highlighter line is.

“You highlighted with glitter?” Stiles asks, thinking his jaw might just fall off his face and onto the bathroom floor they haven’t cleaned in months. It’s probably Scott’s turn.

“Yeah,” Derek says, a little defensively, “I needed something besides the cheap fairy wings I got at CVS. They had this glitter so I just grabbed it and watched a few videos to figure it out. It’s not hard.”

Stiles has a micro flashback to Derek’s face covered in his jizz and all the breath momentarily leaves his body. The caveman brain that likes marking his territory has got to stop thinking about that image twelve times a day.

“Hey Stiles watched like thirty-seven videos to figure our makeup shit out too,” Scott says, punching Derek lightly on the shoulder.

Derek turns an upturned eyebrow to Stiles, getting the eyebrow in there for a cheap trick, “Eyeliner, Stiles. You’re not shy about casting first stones, are you?”

“First of all,” Stiles says, poking Derek in the chest, strangely worked up about all this and not sure why, “I look damn good in this eye liner so you can suck it, and second of all,” only he runs out of steam now that he’s standing so close to Derek. Something about the green eyes focusing on him with such scrutiny makes his train of thought derail big time. “Second of all, stop trying to censor me.”

“You think I’m trying to censor you.” Derek says with a huff of a laugh. “I’ve been trying to get you to shut up for years, but never in the name of censorship. Annoyance, maybe.”

“That’s just hurtful,” Scott points out. Stiles nods, thanking Scott for having his back.

“I’m wounded, Derek. Wounded.”

“Something tells me you’ll get over it,” Derek says. “How much longer until we can leave?”

“Eager are we?” Stiles says, assessing Scott’s face for flaws. He can’t fix his crooked jaw line, but he can make him look snatched.

“Just want to know if I have enough time to mark an essay or not,” Derek eases back to the doorway, allowing Stiles’ lungs to start properly working again. He gulps in a mouthful of air as discreetly as possible, which for Stiles is never a high level of discrete. He seems to have skipped that gene.

“Sure, Lucifer, you have time to mark an essay, this is going to take another ten minutes or so. And then he’s got to get dressed.”

Derek nods, pats the door frame twice, “Okay, I’ll be in the living room. Ready to go.” He starts to turn around, still talking while Stiles is trying to concentrate on Scott’s face, “As I have been, for a while now.”

“Did he think we knew he was coming?” Scott asks, trying not to move his mouth and mess up Stiles’ paint job. 

“I have no idea what goes on in his mind half the time,” Stiles replies.

An hour later, Erica greets them eagerly at the door to the frat house. With her help they actually get into the party, this frat in particular is notorious about not letting in men who are not affiliated with their fraternity. If they think it messes with their chances of scoring with chicks, well, Stiles thinks it has more to do with their personalities than the statistical advantage.

Between Erica’s personality and Derek’s face, they’re allowed entry. Stiles wouldn’t be heartbroken if they had to turn around, but they’re here now so...

“Drinks?” He says to the group at large. Erica, sans Boyd, grins in agreement and quickly introduces herself to Scott and Derek, now that they’re safely inside and she doesn’t have to pretend she knows them well enough to vouch for them.

“I’m Erica,” she says like they should already know who she is. Like she’s a one namer, like Beyoncé. She’s kind of Stiles’ personal life Beyoncé. He makes a mental note to tell her that one later because it’ll probably go over well. Maybe the next time she’s mad at him. 

“Sweet,” Scott says, smiling brightly, always eager to meet another of Stiles’ friends. 

“Nice to meet you, Erica,” Derek contributes, holding out a hand to shake hers, “I’m Derek.”

“I know who you are,” she says, channeling an ‘80’s sex vixen or something. It’s very distracting for Stiles who wants to see that zero percent. “Stiles and I do the same major. He borrows my extra camera every week.”

To Derek’s credit, he only turns a blushy pink instead of full on red. “Well, thanks for your contribution but you aren’t getting a cut.”

Stiles feels amusement bubble up. He loves party Derek. “A cut of zero is still zero.”

Derek smirks over at Stiles, obviously feeling some type of way that he told Erica what’s going on. “Glad it’s not an issue then.”

Erica takes to Scott naturally—Stiles is surprised they haven’t met already considering Erica works with him and Isaac is semi-obsessed with Scott, but like low-key. He’s not weird about it.

In fact, Erica likes Scott so much she waits an extra thirty minutes before abandoning them to go get laid. The thirty minutes she spends with Scott lasts about three hours between the two of them telling embarrassing stories about Stiles. If it were a contest, Scott would win hands down from time of proximity, though Erica tells a delightful anecdote about the day the toilets backed up. Stiles leaves them to it to grab a drink for himself. Scott is on his own now.

He pushes past sweaty bodies in various states of naked and costuming. The lights are low and the house is shaking with the bass. Luckily Stiles has been here before and knows they usually have a drinks station set up on the back porch. He weaves his way back there, avoiding flailing limbs and working the long way around the beer pong table. The back door is propped open and Stiles breathes easier once he’s outside. There are just as many people out here, but the night air and lack of walls helps with the stuffiness. 

Derek is waylaid by the drinks table talking to a cute brunette girl that Stiles thinks he might have seen at Derek’s office hours once. Derek meets Stiles’ eyes over the girl’s head, sending very clear “help me” vibes. Stiles sighs and makes his way over. He does need a drink after all.

One of the brothers helps him fill a solo cup of beer from the keg. He didn’t need the help but he assumes this is a pledge or something counting how many beers the uninvited men drink. He uses the opportunity to eavesdrop on Derek’s conversation with the brunette dressed as some kind of sexy witch.

“Wow, it’s so awesome to run into you here,” she’s saying while nodding a lot. Her chest is pushed out so that Derek can’t help but notice her tits on display. In her defense, they are nice tits. Maybe the world does need to see them. 

“Yeah,” Derek manages to get out awkwardly, “even teachers like to get out every once in a while.”

The freshman hands his beer over and Stiles moves to stand beside Derek, cutting into the conversation, “hey man, I thought you were getting me a beer?”

Derek looks contrite, “sorry, I got distracted talking to—“

“Molly,” she says, holding out her hand to shake Stiles’ hand. He takes it politely and maybe squeezes a bit harder than needed.

“Molly, nice to meet you I’m Stiles. Derek’s roommate.” He doesn’t wait for her to keep talking, “hey, they’re almost ready for us for beer pong. You in?”

“You play beer pong Professor Hale?”

Stiles snorts obnoxiously. “He doesn’t so much play beer pong as he does dominate beer pong. You think he knows literature? He’s a master of beer pong. Practically already a PhD.”

“Stiles,” Derek says and maybe he has a point, maybe Stiles doesn’t need to save him from a girl by making him seem like an alcoholic, but his help comes with a price. He’s not lying though—Derek has a gift for beer pong, darts, any hand eye coordination game unless it’s virtual. He’s shit at video games, but any real life game involving throwing or aiming, he’s the man. 

They make the best team because Derek’s actually really good and Stiles is really good at distracting the other team. He doesn’t even have to really try, it comes naturally to him. 

Neither of them mind playing with Scott, but something about when the two of them play together is a winning combination. With Scott, they go down to winning like 75% of the time. Stiles and Derek only lose once both of them are too wasted to see straight. It usually takes a long time to get to that point. Not that they’ve had much time this semester to keep practicing—both of them have been way too busy.

Stiles steers Derek away from Molly and back through the door to the beer pong table. With a confidence he doesn’t feel, Stiles approaches the guy who seems to be refereeing and requests that they play winner. 

“Another team already has dibs on winner,” he says, barely looking away from the table.

“Then after that?” Stiles asks, adding in a undertone, “this chick won’t leave my gay friend alone.” The referee looks up at that and Stiles nudges his head in Molly’s direction. “She’s pretty cute but she’s not taking the hint. If he’s busy playing, she might be distracted.”

Little hearts practically spill out of this guys eyes and he agrees to let them play next. There’s only a few cups on each side of the table left, so it’s likely to go pretty quickly. Stiles winks at Derek and drains the rest of his cup. He needs one more before he’s at his peak performance.

“Another one?” Derek gestures to the cup. Stiles nods. “I’ll grab it. We have to get rid of Sober Stilinski if we hope to win.”

Stiles smirks. Fuck Sober Stilinski.

Four successful games later, Stiles doesn’t see Molly or the referee hanging out near the table anymore.

On the wrong side of tipsy, Stiles whispers to Derek while the next challengers get themselves in order setting up the cups, “She’s gone, dude. You want to keep playing or do something else?”

Derek shrugs, “I’m kinda in the zone. Wanna play one more?”

“Sure,” Stiles says, “have you seen Scott?” 

The beer pong table is situated in what would be the living room of the house and not many people who aren’t there specifically for the beer pong walk by. Stiles isn’t surprised he hasn’t seen Scott in a while, but he’s worried nonetheless. It took a long time to put that fucking make up on. 

“Not for a while,” Derek’s considerably more sober since Stiles offered to drink the few cups the other teams had sunk—Stiles gets better the more he drinks and Derek is just consistently amazing so it works out better in their favor for Stiles to drink more. “Should we be worried yet?”

Stiles pulls his phone out of his pocket, sees a text from Scott from an hour ago that says _I found Kira!!!!!_

He shows Derek the text. “Something tells me we’re good for a while.”

They play the next game and a bit of a crowd starts to form with how good they are. Stiles starts to come down on the other side of drunk and slide into regressing, but Derek is as consistent as usual and gets them through the game by himself.

By the end of the next game, there’s a brown haired man staring obnoxiously at Derek. Stiles normally wouldn’t notice this, people stare at Derek all the time after all, what with how beautiful he is. You get used to it as his friend and roommate. But this guy hasn’t taken his eyes off of Derek in over ten minutes and Stiles can sense that Derek is getting creeped out.

Once they finish off tweedle dee and tweedle dum, Stiles makes the executive decision that they’re done. He lets the crowd know and drags Derek behind him to boos. Stiles needs room to breathe after the claustrophobia of the living room and leads them back outside. He could use something other than shitty beer too. Crossing the threshold to the porch, Stiles lets Derek’s hand go—when did he even start holding it?—and tells him he’ll be back with a drink in a second. 

He asks the freshman alcohol gatekeeper for two coke-based mixed drinks, “don’t care what the alcohol is, just fuck me up,” and turns around.

The brown haired guy followed them out of the house and is now standing extremely close to Derek, who is leaning backwards to leave space between them. Stiles observes more while the drinks are poured. They clearly know each other. The other dude looks like he’s pleading or something but Stiles doesn’t get the student vibe from him. He wonders who this douchebag is.

The freshman hands over the drinks and Stiles thanks him, there’s no need to be rude, and head back over to Stiles.

Derek sees him approaching and his eyes light up. What is Stiles designated Derek babysitter tonight? Usually he has Scott to help run interference but he’s still missing, presumably with Kira.

“Hey sweetie,” Derek says smiling at him and there’s enough mischievousness in his eyes to intrigue Stiles. “Took you long enough with my drink.”

“Well, I had to make sure they poured it right for you, buttercup. I know how particular you are about everything.”

Stiles hands the drink over and turns to the brown hair guy, drunk enough to just go with the strange pet names thing Derek started. Drunk Stiles has done weirder things. He holds out his hand, “Stiles, man. I’m guessing you know Derek.”

“Uh, yeah,” the guy says, reaching out to take Stiles’ hand, “I’m Rich. Derek and I used to date.”

“Oh,” Stiles says, thinking quickly and now analyzing the last five minutes again, “cat guy?” Derek dated a guy like three years ago with two cats. They didn’t date long enough for Derek to introduce him to the family, but did date long enough for Derek to complain about him.

Cat guy looks askance at Derek, “cat guy?” 

“What you had a cat, didn’t you?” Derek asks sheepishly.

“Yeah, but...” Cat guy trails off. He turns so sharply to Derek, that Stiles no longer feels like he’s part of the conversation, even if he’s standing right on Derek’s other side and had a clear nonverbal invitation. “How come you didn’t call me back last week? I thought we could get together now that I’m in grad school here.” 

Stiles looks to Derek, enjoying watching him fumble. Something flashes across his face and Stiles, for once, isn’t sure what it was. Maybe he’s too drunk, maybe it’s something else. But he knows every expression that Derek has now—even his O face. Most bros don’t know their bros’ O faces, but Stiles knows even that.

“I’m already seeing someone,” Derek says and Stiles about spits his coke and mysterious alcohol out, “and it’s pretty serious.”

Derek’s hand comes around to grab Stiles’ and suddenly Stiles gets it. He’s the boyfriend. Yeah, got it. He’s used to playing reverse wingman for Derek, but this is the first time they’ve gone with fake dating. Derek must really not want to talk to this guy. Anytime he leaves hope, they come crawling back. 

“Yeah, dude,” Stiles says, pulling Derek closer with their connected hands, “we’re living together and everything. I’d be pretty upset if you tried to bang my boyfriend, so...”

Cat guy doesn’t even spare Stiles a glance, “this guy?” He motions towards Stiles with his head and Stiles thinks it’s very immature considering he’s standing right here and this guy keeps straight up ignoring him. Like he can ignore Stiles and suddenly Derek will forget about him too.

Stiles moves passed the amusement and into pissed off town, population one. “What’s wrong with this guy?” He says about himself and then regrets it. “I mean, what’s wrong with me? I’m a catch.”

He doesn’t believe he’s a catch and certainly by the disdainful look on cat guy’s face he doesn’t think Stiles is a catch either. Fuck this dude.

“You’re totally a catch, babe,” Derek whispers reassuringly into his ear but Stiles wasn’t expecting to hear anything that close so he jumps instead of what’s probably the correct response to one’s super hot boyfriend saying _you’re_ the catch in the relationship. A beat later and Stiles still isn’t sure what the correct response is. 

Cat guy rolls his eyes, salutes them mockingly with his beer and says, “call me when you get sick of this twink, Derek.”

“Hey watch who you’re calling a twink,” Stiles says, taking serious offense. Cat guy snorts and walks off looking like someone farted right under his nose.

“Did he seriously just call me a twink?”

“You’ve called yourself a twink, before. It’s not an insult.”

“He certainly seemed to think it was,” Stiles says, pulling his hand out of Derek’s. It feels cold in the night air.

“I’m ready to go,” Derek whispers, “this isn’t fun anymore.”

“You’re going to let Cat Guy ruin the party?”

He shakes his head, “it’s 1:00am and I’m tired. He hasn’t ruined anything—he’s just drunk and horny.”

Stiles sees cat guy from across the porch, still watching them with a disbelieving gleam in his eye. His eyes slide past Stiles and land on Derek, his gaze grows heavier with lust until Stiles can’t stand the tension and his drunken mind makes a snap decision. Because Derek shouldn’t have to deal with assholes who can’t accept no, assholes who can’t respect that Derek made a decision that isn’t them, assholes who think they’re entitled to everything they want. 

As far as this asshole knows, Derek belongs to Stiles and Stiles isn’t going to let this dude think he can have something that belongs to Stiles, that wants to be with Stiles. Even if it’s fake, Stiles would never let someone take something that is his and try to degrade it.

“C’mon,” Stiles finishes his drink in one big swallow, “we’re going to dance and we’re going to show fucking cat guy that we’re a real couple and that we’re perfectly happy together and that you fuck me good every night.”

“Um,” Derek says blankly, “What?”

Stiles grabs Derek’s drink out of his hand and finishes the last dregs of it. “He doesn’t get to think he owns you or that you owe him something because you guys fooled around years ago. He’s definitely one of those douchebags that will keep calling and texting you even though you told him you have a boyfriend. Because he thinks we’re lying. So we’re going to show him we’re not lying and short of showing him our porn, which I won’t do on principal alone that he can fucking pay for it if he wants to see that, we’re going to dance so dirty on this dance floor that he’s going to be able to imagine you fucking me.” 

Derek still looks shell shocked, but he always loses a couple IQ points when he’s drunk. He’ll catch on and thank Stiles later.

The dance floor consists of four couples already grinding nastily, four sorority sisters dancing together and two guys on the peripheral eyeing them hard. Stiles pulls Derek to the edge of the dance floor, knowing that cat guy will follow them and this will give him the best view. 

“Are you okay with this?” Stiles asks, turning around to place his back to Derek’s chest. “I may have gotten ahead of myself in trying to protect you.”

Derek pulls him close, his hips bracketing Stiles and the long line of his body already comforting to Stiles. What is it about Derek’s body that makes Stiles so comfortable and safe? It’s something in his smell, though Stiles can’t define where it comes from—they use the same body wash, the same shampoo, and the same laundry detergent. If the smell is the thing that comforts him so much, surely Scott would have the same effect. 

“It’s fine, I don’t mind playing along with your scheme,” Derek says into his ear.

Stiles huffs and cranes his neck to say in Derek’s ear, “this was your scheme, you’re the one who told him I was your boyfriend, I’m just clearing all doubts.”

He feels Derek’s laughter through his back and then his arm comes across Stiles’ stomach like a vice and the safety feeling doubles but then recedes as Derek starts to move his hips. The small circles in which Derek shakes his hips feel dangerous in a flavor that Stiles can’t place. He hears a warning bell in his head, but it’s like the first time you touch a hot stove—you have no understanding of the consequence, just the warnings that something bad will happen.

Stiles falls effortlessly into a rhythm with Derek and everything but the beat of the music and the warmth of the body behind him disappears. They dance through what must be several songs this way and Stiles finds a kind of high that makes him quiet. The alcohol in his veins and the soothing movement of his body moving with Derek’s allows him to let go. He forgets about cat guy and Scott and Kira. He forgets about Erica abandoning him to be with Boyd. He forgets about being poor as shit. He lets Derek move his body and it feels like he’s floating on the ceiling. 

Time slips through his fingers until somebody brakes a glass bottle close enough that the shattering cuts through the fog in his brain. He tenses and falls out of rhythm with Derek who’s now quite hard at his back and in some kind of Pavlovian effect, Stiles starts to get hard too. Good things happen to him when Derek gets hard and he honestly can’t help it.

Stiles flips around to face Derek and puts their hips together to keep dancing. He watches Derek’s face slip from surprised to intrigued. Stiles moves his hips against Derek’s with challenge and Derek’s hand snake around Stiles’ back with acceptance. 

He isn’t sure who starts the kissing, it might have been him, but he knows that Derek is the one that escalates it to full on making out on the fraternity dance floor. His body tingles with pleasure and everything feels good—Derek’s beard tickles his face, his tongue makes a home with Stiles’. It’s the textbook definition of drunken making out and Stiles loves every second of it. 

They don’t stop until the music stops. The lights come up and Stiles feels like he just passed over from the fairy realm back into reality. 


	11. Chapter 11

“It’s 4:00am, party’s over,” a dude says somewhere nearby and Stiles blinks the harsh light out of his eyes.

“Is it really 4:00am?” he asks Derek and his voice sounds terrible. He sounds wrecked. The longer he thinks about it the more he feels wrecked. 

He watches Derek struggle to figure out the situation as well. “I guess so, let me check my phone.”

Stiles looks around while Derek pulls his phone out of his too tight jeans and sees that most people have already left and there are only a couple people still in the dance room. They started dancing around 1:00am and it’s 4:00am now — how many songs did they get through? Are his legs going to fall off tomorrow from exercising? He knows Derek’s will be fine, he does like squats and stuff. But Stiles isn’t a gym guy. He’s a three jobs too busy for the gym guy. Four jobs now? Does porn count as a job? Heh jobs... Stiles could use a blow job he’s still hard in his jeans.

“Yeah, it’s 4:00am.” Derek concludes, cutting into Stiles’ horny line of thought. “And Scott left hours ago with Kira so I guess we just go home?” He says the last part a bit uncertain and Stiles shrugs because what else are they going to do?

“Yeah, home.” Derek nods towards the door and Stiles takes the cue to leave first. 

“You just want a view of this ass,” Stiles calls over his shoulder. 

He feels a stinging slap on said ass. “So what if I do?” Derek says with zero shame, “it’s a cute ass. We became friends tonight.”

Reaching the front door, Stiles ignores the looks of all the frat bros giving him and Derek looks. Like they’ve never seen two dudes kissing on the dance floor for possibly hours. “You became friends the other night, I would think. You’re forever in this ass’ good books.”

The reference to the sex the had a few nights ago lights the spark that’s been present all night and suddenly Stiles can’t think of anything but Derek and orgasms. He wants Derek in bed in the big bedroom, and his fingers in Stiles, getting him off. He wants Derek’s mouth around him while his mouth works over Derek. He wants Derek’s hard cock stuffing him full and rubbing his prostate. He wants Derek to make him come and wants to see that face Derek makes when he comes himself.

“Like I said,” Derek says a moment later when Stiles looks up and they’re making their way towards the apartment, “it’s a good ass.”

Without thinking about the pros and cons of the move, Stiles reaches over to place his hand in Derek’s back pocket, settling on his right butt cheek. “This guy’s pretty good too. I can’t wait to become friends with him.”

Derek hip checks him but Stiles doesn’t let his grip slip. He takes the opportunity to pull Derek close to him, eye to eye and nose to nose. They stare at each other for a long moment before Stiles blurts out, “God, I’m horny. And if you say hi horny, I’m Derek, I’m not going to blow you when we get home.”

“You’re going to blow me?” Derek asks and then a wicked gleam lights up his green eyes, “that’s awfully nice of you, horny.”

Stiles fights against the grin that wants desperately to come out. “Not anymore, sorry buddy.”

“I’ll take frottage as my second choice,” Derek responds and there’s a look on his face that Stiles, for the second time tonight, cannot place.

“Frottage is basically masturbation against someone so I can do that,” Stiles says and that look on Derek’s face melts off into Derek’s hiding something mask. Stiles doesn’t want to lose the moment by forcing him to talk about it.

“Frottage it is,” Derek grabs Stiles’ hand from his back pocket, slips his fingers in between Stiles’ and then starts to walk faster and faster towards the apartment until they are straight up jogging.

Stiles lets them in the apartment, Derek so close to his back that he has a flashback to the dance floor and feels Derek’s amusement through his chest.

Something wicked curls up Stiles’ spine and he gets that same feeling as the first time he made Derek hard, pure power. Feeling mischievous, Stiles pulls away from Derek and with a hand to his chest, stops him from getting close again. He looks Derek straight in the eye and slowly pulls his white Edward Cullen shirt over his head. Derek’s eyes widen and he circles around Stiles, respecting the space Stiles requested, until he lands on the couch. Without breaking eye contact, Derek sinks down on the couch. His stare is so weighted Stiles could probably physically pluck it out of the air. 

Stiles walks slowly closer, knowing that making Derek wait for it is going to make this better. It’s not often he has something over Derek so he’s going to torture him with the knowledge that he wants Stiles and Stiles knows it.

“Should I take my jeans of?” Stiles asks Derek, playing with the button on his pants and sliding his hand up and down his treasure trail. Derek’s eyes are completely blown with lust. He simply nods. Stiles undoes the button, proud of himself for not fumbling with it. He slowly pulls the zipper down, the room so quiet that he can hear each individual tooth unspool from its brothers.

Derek watches Stiles’ hands closely. Once the zipper reaches the bottom, Stiles takes a moment to indulge himself. He grips his package through the jeans, the friction taking the top layer of need off. A moan sounds in the room and Stiles doesn’t know whether it was Derek or himself.

“That feels so good,” Stiles says to Derek across the small living room. He takes another step closer to Derek’s place on the couch until his thighs are butting up against Derek’s knees. “It would feel even better if you did it.”

Derek’s hand comes up to meet Stiles’ over his jean-cladden cock. He moves Stiles’ hand out of the way and then squeezes. Stiles’ eyes shut closed of their own volition and he almost comes right then and there. 

“Stiles please,” Derek says. 

He opens his eyes and sees Derek staring straight at his cock. He brings his hands up to Derek’s hair and rests them there. Derek’s hair is silky and thick and Stiles loves how it feels between his fingers. He’s always been jealous of Derek’s hair.

“You can have whatever you want,” Stiles says softly, knowing what he’s offering and meaning every syllable of it.

“Want you in my mouth,” Derek says bringing Stiles’ hips closer to him and Stiles’ balances himself on Derek’s head. 

Derek bites at the top of his jeans, nuzzling his nose into the sensitive skin over his underwear.

“Whatever you want,” Stiles says again, meaning it, “might be easier with these out of the way.”

He pulls his hands out of Derek’s hair and pulls his jeans down to his ankles. Derek grabs one of his hips to help him balance and Stiles kicks off the jeans towards the big bedroom. 

“At least take your shirt off, Der,” Stiles whines as Derek’s hands start inching to his dick. He cannot wait for him to get there either, but this body is a piece of art and Stiles needs to admire it.

The shirt meets the ground in between blinks and Stiles almost resents that he didn’t get a show like Derek did, but then again he’s about to get his dick sucked. Any resentment melts away by the time he feels a lick at his hip bone. 

“Love your hips,” Derek says and Stiles isn’t sure if he knows he’s talking out loud. The tongue travels lower, dancing farther south until Stiles is about to come off his feet. Derek pushes Stiles backwards a step and slips off the couch and onto his knees.

“Yes,” Stiles says, slipping his hands into Derek’s hair again, “yes, love it when you’re on your knees.”

“Stiles,” Derek says and then takes him into his mouth.

This blow job isn’t the Taj Mahal of blow jobs. It isn’t careful or planned out or carefully constructed. It’s sloppy and Stiles can feel how much Derek absolutely wants it, how much he loves having a dick in his mouth, how desperate he is. This is Habitat for Humanity or something—a passion project. 

Derek works Stiles over with too much spit and an accidental tooth graze here and there and Stiles comes quickly. This time, instead of coming on Derek’s face, Derek swallows him down to the root and Stiles shoots down his throat.

He heaves a big breath and would have fallen forward if Derek wasn’t there to catch him.

“Dude,” Stiles says as Derek arranges him onto the couch, “dude that was... I can’t even...”

Derek brings a blanket out of nowhere and starts to put it over Stiles like he’s tucking him in and Stiles flares up, “No, dude, no no no. Don’t take my turn away from me.” He sits up, the blanket falling around him.

“It’s okay Stiles, you’re tired, just go to sleep,” Derek says but Stiles won’t have any of that shit.

“No, get your ass naked and in the big bedroom.”

Derek meets Stiles gaze and must finally see that he’s serious because he stands up and throws his tight jeans off. It isn’t until this moment that Stiles realizes that he lost his fairy wings somewhere before they even started dancing.

In just his briefs, Derek reaches down to help Stiles stand up off the couch. Stiles follows him into the bedroom, pulls his briefs off and pushes him onto the bed. 

“Stiles?” Derek questions, but falls backwards onto the bed, his legs falling open. Stiles makes himself comfortable between them. He reaches up and kisses Derek almost chastely on the lips. 

“How’s this?” Stiles asks, leaning over to kiss Derek’s right cheek and then his left. 

“It’s good,” Derek says, his eyes closing. Stiles takes the opportunity to kiss those too. He kisses up Derek’s jaw, over to his ear, and then down to his neck. He spends several minutes showing attention to Derek’s neck without leaving any lasting marks. He travels down Derek’s chest to his beautiful pecs. Stiles indulges a weird idea and bites Derek’s chest, fulfilling some strange urge in himself that he doesn’t have a name for. Derek hisses and squirms under Stiles in a way that tells him that he liked it.

Stiles nuzzles in Derek’s chest hair, totally jealous of it and also aroused by it and bites at his left pec to the same effect. So Derek likes a little biting. Stiles can do biting.

He tries sucking on Derek’s nipple to see if he has a reaction. There’s not much there, but when he bites at it lightly, Derek’s hips rock up and he hisses again. Stiles smiles to himself and tortures Derek with kitten nips and a soothing tongue until Stiles thinks Derek can’t take much more.

His cock starts to stir with the picture Derek makes, the sounds he’s unable to stop, the friction of his hips rubbing against Stiles.

“I promised frottage, didn’t I?” Stiles says.

It takes Derek a second to reply, “I believe it was my second choice, yeah.”

“Whatever you want, Derek,” Stiles says again and he still means it. 

“I’ve got my heart set on frottage, as it turns out,” Derek says, pulling Stiles higher up so that their hard dicks are even. “Let me get the lube.” He rolls under Stiles to reach into the nightstand, comes out with their classic lube, and squirts some into his hand. 

Stiles rears up on his knees to allow Derek access to stroke his own cock with the lube, and then Stiles’. Just one stroke and Stiles feels overwhelmed. Derek caps the lube and throws it in the direction of the nightstand, already intent on Stiles. Stiles doesn’t allow him to roll him over, he wants to stay on top, he wants to make sure that Derek’s turn is exactly what he wants it to be. He wants to make Derek feel good and he knows if he gives into Derek, he’ll make it about Stiles’ pleasure instead of his own. 

“Uh uh,” Stiles chides, “this is about you. I’m going to make you feel good.”

“You make me feel so good,” Derek says, pulling Stiles down to his mouth and kissing him dirtily. “Start moving.”

Stiles doesn’t need to be told twice. He shifts his hips and finds a rhythm very similar to the one they found while dancing and he’s suddenly embarrassed that so many people saw him basically having sex on the dance floor at that frat and then it hits him that he and Derek are having sex and there’s no camera recording them, this isn’t for any reason other than that he wants to have sex with Derek and what does that even mean?

He’s just super horny and it’s Derek’s fault for telling cat guy that Stiles is his boyfriend, so really he’s just letting Derek pay him back. And damn Derek’s doing a good job—a blow job and now this?

“Stop thinking,” Derek says, biting Stiles’ lower lip and raising his hips in an unexpected way and, yeah, that’ll do it. Stiles no longer can think of anything but Derek and his impending orgasm. 

It might be minutes, or hours, but Stiles feels Derek start to come apart under him. He breaks the kiss to reach down and bite at a nipple and Derek comes hard between them. Stiles likes the face Derek makes when he comes and between that, the feeling of Derek’s pleasure coming from Stiles, and the physical stimulation, Stiles follows Derek’s example and comes between them, his spunk mixing hotly with Derek’s.

“Ugh, towel,” Stiles collapses on top of Derek who places a soft kiss to the top of his head and then pushes him off and to Derek’s right. 

“Nightstand,” Stiles says, remembering belatedly that he put some extra towels there for their porn night in case something like this happened. A spunk-splosion. “There’s a rag in the nightstand.”

Derek grunts his understanding and quickly cleans them up. He pulls a still naked Stiles to his chest, curls his body around him, and they both drop off into sleep seconds later.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas!!!

Stiles wakes the next morning convinced he’s already dead. There’s no way he can feel this horrible and be living. Between the pounding headache, the nausea, and the general stickiness—if he’s not already in his grave, he wants to get there soon.

He talks himself into going back to sleep, he’ll feel better when he’s slept longer. The muscular chest under his head doesn’t argue, so he drops back into unconsciousness. 

The second time he wakes, the sun is shining directly onto his face and he’s pissed.

“Ugh,” someone moans and this time it’s not the sexy way. The pillow under Stiles starts moving and the rocking shakes loose more horribleness. 

“Stop moving,” he tells his pillow, not ready to accept wakefulness. Acceptance is the last step, he’s got a lot more steps to process before he’s ready to move.

“Stiles,” Derek says and it’s only long exposure to the Hale brothers that his mush brain recognizes the voice. “Stiles get off me. Gotta pee.”

“No,” Stiles still refuses to move his head, clutching Derek closer to him and rubbing his nose into what must be Derek’s chest, like that will somehow get him to behave.

“Gotta pee,” Derek says again like that means something to Stiles.

“No, can’t move,” Stiles says, hoping Derek will understand. Derek usually understands. He wants old Derek back. 

“If you get off me I’ll bring you some coffee.”

This stirs something primal in Stiles’ brain. “Coffee?”

Derek’s arms gently push Stiles off Derek’s chest and onto the bed beside him, but only because Stiles allows himself to be moved.

“Coffee.” Derek agrees, “give me ten minutes to brew it.”

Stiles rubs his nose into the cold sheet now, throwing his arms up under the pillow and cuddling it close as Derek moves out of the bed and takes all the warmth with him. Rude. Now he’s a thief too.

“Gonna get my dad to arrest you,” Stiles says because thieves belong in jail.

Derek trips in the duvet, hastily thrown off the bed last night. “Why would you get your dad to arrest me?” Derek says, and there’s an edge of a tone in his voice. Something sober Stiles would pick up on in an instant, but hungover and maybe dead Stiles notices but can’t bring himself to care enough to investigate.

“You stole the warmth, you asshole. Now you’re not even making me coffee.”

He hears Derek sigh. “Are you still drunk?”

“’M not drunk,” Stiles says, “I’m dead. There’s a difference.”

He cracks his eyes open just enough to catch Derek looking at the ceiling like he’s a nun praying for patience. Hmm, Derek in a habit. Now that’s an image.

“You’re not dead.”

Stiles huffs, “sure feels like it.”

“If you take a shower, I’ll throw in breakfast.”

“I don’t wanna shower,” Stiles says, hoping to sink into the bed and become one with it. 

“You’re covered in come, Stiles. Shower before Scott gets home.”

“Now you’re ashamed of me,” Stiles whines, and then the night comes back to him, why he’s even in bed with Derek in the first place. This isn’t a night farts incident, this was two adults drunkenly making each other orgasm. Stiles finally lifts his head up, just in time to watch Derek step out of the room, bare assed.

Once Derek uses the bathroom and heads to the kitchen, Stiles slinks out of the bed. The reasonable part of his brain knows that he’ll feel better once he eats something, showers, and drinks his body weight in coffee. The longer he sits in this situation without addressing it, the more awkward it will get. As the king of awkward, he knows this for a fact.

Besides, now that Derek mentioned it, he’s very aware of the come tacking his body hair down. It’s pretty gross. Stiles is surprised Derek didn’t insist on showering first, he got the brunt of it. Stiles seems to have just accumulated jizz from Derek in a transference property math equation. That’s a thing right? He would have learned those stupid properties better if they had just made it sexy.

The shower feels heavenly but Stiles doesn’t stray beyond the perfunctory wash, maybe scrubbing a bit harder at his groin. They can’t afford to take luxury showers, no matter how dead he is.

When he walks into the little bedroom to gather clothes to change into, he smells bacon in the air. “Make mine crispy,” Stiles calls out while he tries to find his underwear in the community pile of clean underwear in the laundry basket someone, likely Derek while he and Scott were getting ready last night, threw on top of the bed.

“I know,” Derek yells back, a note of exasperation in his voice. Just another day ending in Y.

“Well sometimes you make it too chewy,” Stiles says, now the proud owner of a random pair of green briefs. Finders Keepers. He slips them on and starts looking for pants.

“Come eat,” Derek says, and Stiles hears him rummaging around in one of the cabinets. Stiles gives up on pants. Fuck it, Derek’s seen him in less and briefs are basically his weekend uniform anyway.

Derek’s put basketball shorts on since Stiles got in the shower. They’re black with the BHHS logo and the number—“Are those my shorts?”

Derek turns around and gives Stiles the Glare of Doom. “Those are my underwear.”

“At least these are clean,” Stiles says, unrepentant. 

“Bacon,” Derek says, throwing a plate at Stiles. “Coffee’s on the coffee table,” He says once Stiles clumsily catches the plate and successfully doesn’t drop it. 

Stiles makes his way to the sofa, grabbing the coffee on the table and sipping it cautiously. Derek obviously poured his cup first and allowed it to cool off enough that Stiles didn’t burn his tongue. Stiles has a bad habit of forgetting that coffee comes out hot, no matter that he makes a living with coffee, and constantly is burning his tongue.

“Ibruprofen,” Derek says, putting the medicine bottle on the table in front of Stiles before falling gracefully into the couch next to him with his own plate of food. Stiles obediently swallows two pills with his coffee and then turns to his food. Derek made eggs too, and Stiles tucks into them. He’s honestly surprised they have this much food in the house. Scott must have worked a shift at the grocery store recently. 

“Bacon could be crispier,” Stiles says a minute later.

“Fuck off,” Derek elbows Stiles in the ribs, but he catches the gleam of amusement in his eyes.

“What are you up to today?” Stiles asks in between bites of egg.

“Grading,” Derek says, “Prep work.”

“Your prep work is excellent,” Stiles finds his mouth saying without his permission. 

Derek sighs and puts his plate down loudly on the coffee table, “You’re the worst.”

“I haven’t had as much prep work experience.”

“So last night,” Derek ventures, but Stiles already came to a conclusion in the shower earlier. All his best ideas come in the shower. So he mercifully cuts Derek off.

“Look, I can’t help that my body is used to orgasms around you now and drunk me wanted an orgasm really badly. Just like I can’t help that Drunk Stiles likes to eat Jimmy Johns and Sober Stiles can’t afford it.”

Derek’s eyebrows draw down tight, “it’s not that simp—“

“Of course it is,” Stiles says, draining his coffee cup, “I’m not into dudes but this whole porn thing has me out of whack. You’re safe and since we’ve been doing the porn thing, I’m used to performing and part of that performance is getting hard and coming. It’s as simple as that.”

“Stiles,” Derek rubs his temples with one hand, the bridge of his hand covering his eyes. Stiles doesn’t need to see his eyes to know he’s won this. 

“Derek,” Stiles says back, a sharpness to his voice that wasn’t there when this uncomfortable conversation began. 

“On your own head, be it,” Derek picks up his plate, grabs Stiles’ too and takes them to the sink. Stiles looks at his coffee cup with the determination of a snail and he doesn’t relax until he hears the shower turn on. 

He throws on clothes and goes to study in the library. For the first time in his life, he doesn’t want to be around Derek right now.

  
Stiles gets the email in his Stats lecture on Tuesday. He has a love hate relationship with Stats in that he hates the teacher and the crowded auditorium he has to endure every Tuesday and Thursday, but the patterns and formulas appeal very much to how his brain is wired. Oftentimes, the hardest part of the work is showing how he got to the right answer. 

So he’s switching between social media apps, the only time he really allows himself to indulge. He finished the entire week’s homework at his shift at the library yesterday—it was a slow day in the build up to finals. He’s looking at Scott’s Halloween picture with Kira, before they got so drunk they ended up on the roof, when he feels a buzz come through the phone. 

Emails are always the first things he checks, naturally, so he opens it up to keep his inbox clean. Might as well keep the streak up, maybe this is when he finally gets his life together and he metamorphasizes into an organized adult human. 

A tremor of excitement courses through him when he sees who the email is from. He read in his research that this would start happening, he would start getting notifications on how his videos are doing. 

It’s the porn returns, baby. Stiles fist pumps in the air and only the awkward pause of the lecturer reminds him that he’s in a public place. He sinks down into his seat, comfortable in his embarrassment, it’s basically his natural state and returns back to his phone. 

“Eighty bucks,” he gasps. They seriously paid him $80 for his porn! People with jobs and lives and like real estate gave forth their capital just to watch Derek and Stiles gettin’ it on. Stiles shakes his head in surreal incredulity. Is this what it’s like being rich?

He spends the next ten minutes of class imagining what they can spend their money on and as soon as the doors open for the class to exit, Stiles jets out down the hallway to Derek’s office.

He sprints past the queue of five girls and one gangly looking boy to burst into Derek’s office. 

“Sushi!” He announces to a very bewildered freshman and a long-suffering Derek Hale. The first thing Stiles notices is the black glasses taking up space on Derek’s face. A rumble of appreciation rolls through him. They’ll have to explore the glasses thing in their porn soon. Especially if they keep getting the big money like this. Stiles can definitely work with the glasses.

“Stiles,” Derek says, turning to apologize to his student, “This will take a second. Can we pick this back up in five?”

The hipster girl who dresses seventeen times cooler than Stiles ever will very nicely packs up her stuff and steps outside. When the door opens, Stiles hears the not so subtle complaining of the line still standing outside. “Who the hell was that?” Drifts in as the girl pulls the door shut tightly behind her.

“Sushi?” Derek prompts.

Suddenly Stiles remembers where he is and that he just interrupted Derek at work and that’s not very cool. He’ll try to make it fast, Derek has enough people to get through after hipster girl.

“I’ll keep it short, I know you’re busy.”

“What is it? Are you sick? Did you eat bad sushi? Do I need to take you to the ER? I’ll call my mom,” Derek reaches for his phone and Stiles must have really scared him. Even when he had Stiles drop off his lunch that time, he didn’t stay for a chat. This must be the equivalent of Derek showing up at Starbucks with a pencil shoved in his chest. Threat level red.

“Nothing’s wrong, I should have just told you when you got home, but I was right here and...” He trails off, still excited about the news, but now floundering. It’s not a good look on him. “We made $80!” he punctuates the sentence with jazz hands and very maturely refrains from calling them jizz hands. He does, however make a mental note to use that later because that’s going to kill if he uses it in the right moment.

“Really?” Derek says, putting his phone back in the front pocket of his too-tight work pants, grey edition. They really highlight his package. Stiles notices these things now. But hey, if the consequence of $80 is mild homo-gaze, he’ll take it. 

“Yeah, eighty big ones,” Stiles says, “I was thinking we can splurge on some sushi since all three of us agree on that place on Elm Street, and then put the rest towards the gas bill? Scott still hasn’t paid it.”

“I think it’s your turn, actually,” Derek says pointedly.

“Irregardless,” Stiles waves a hand though the air, “you’re busy, so I’ll go. Just wanted to share the good news.”

Derek nods, and pulls one leg up over the other. His crotch is less noticeable this way, but his thighs are now highlighted.

“Good, keep your legs like that. Your dick is less prominent.”

“Stiles!”

“Well, gotta go,” Stiles pats him on the head and zips back out of the office, knowing he’s going to be a minute late to his editing course.

“I’ll see you tonight for sushi,” he calls when he’s already in the hallway. Unhappy faces start tittering around him and Stiles stops short. Shit, that’s going to look bad and Derek has to be a professional or whatever. He tacks on, “for our roommate monthly dinner, nothing else. No hanky panky.”

A couple faces relax around him. He leaves them in his dust. 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small warning that Stiles is 1) a dumbass and 2) sometimes an insensitive dumbass, but he means well
> 
> Thanks for the kudos and comments. I am thriving.

He rides the high through the rest of his classes and short Starbucks shift. Isaac needed an extra pair of hands while he went through the monthly inventory check. When he walks back to the apartment, a blueberry muffin stuck unsubtly under his hat for breakfast tomorrow, Scott and Derek are already lounging inside, ready to go. 

“Bro,” Stiles says, not having seen Scott in a few days.

“Bro!” Scott says back, cheerfulness exuding out of him. “We’re rich!”

“Not exactly,” Derek says, “$80 doesn’t make us rich, but it will be nice to enjoy dinner for once.”

“Lemme get changed and we can head out,” Stiles walks to the small bedroom to throw on a different, non-Starbucks shirt.

They have a good fucking time at dinner. Derek tries to teach Scott to use chopsticks. Again. He’s been trying since Scott was in middle school and both of them have yet to accept that Scott’s fingers just don’t bend that way. At least with the good news in the air, neither of them get mad and dinner doesn’t end with a trip to the emergency room. They can’t afford any trips to the emergency room. 

They enjoy a delicious dinner and Stiles very gallantly reaches for the check when it comes and he puts his card down with a flourish. There’s something about this feeling. He loves that he can treat them like this, he loves that it’s him that’s providing this meal. Derek’s leaning back in his chair, clearly relaxed and full and Scott’s cheeks are rosy from the sake he had earlier—probably contributing to his utter failure with the chopsticks— and he loves these boys. This is his family and he loves that he can help cause their happiness. Granted, Derek had a contributing role. But it was Stiles’ idea and Stiles’ execution and now it’s Stiles’ debit card the waitress is running. 

He’ll leave her a nice tip too to make up for Derek not being interested. She’s been overly attentive all night and Stiles very maturely decides to feel bad for her rather than get angry on Derek’s behalf.

On top of a great dinner, it’s Stiles’ week for the big bedroom. He watches a documentary on the farming industry with Derek while Scott pretends to watch but is really texting Kira and then succumbs to an early night, his belly as full as his heart.

Only he can’t fall asleep right away. He should, he totally should be able to sleep right now. He ate a good motherfucking meal, he had a little bit to drink until he remembered Sake tastes awful and gave his to Scott, and he argued with Derek about the difference between corn and maize—he should be able to sleep.

He tosses one way and then another. He plays a game of sudoku on his phone. He beats it too easily so he tries a harder level. That doesn’t do it either. He can hear Derek out in the living room, he’s arguing with the TV. Derek has strong opinions on documentaries. 

Scott’s talking softly in the small bedroom, probably to Kira. He thinks he’s keeping this super low key, but Stiles knows what’s going on and based on the eye contact he made with Derek at dinner when they both caught him texting her, Derek knows too. 

He plays another game of sudoku. He plays soothing sounds on his phone.

He’s still wide awake at 3:00am and he has to be up in five hours. Finally, he gives up and pulls out his laptop, finds a good video and jerks off. After he comes, he recognizes what site he’s on and, curious, he pulls up the stats to their recent videos. If he got money, people must be watching.

Oooh, there are comments! Stiles spends ten minutes looking at the comments on their videos and his life is changed.

 _Can’t wait to see him fuck his boi_ , says one. Many other comments seem to agree with this one.

_I want to cum on dat ass_

_So gay_

_Look at that hole, i cud give it to him gud_

_The straight one isnt event that ho_ t, says one and Stiles tries not to let it bother him, even though the next three comments strongly disagree and mention how cute they think he is. Why is he stressing over one strange comment?

He looks through several more comments and see that you can sort them by most popular. He clicks and checks the top rated comment:

_They’re n lov n shit_

He wheezes out a laugh. He and Derek? Derek and him? Love? And shit? He literally can’t stop laughing and it’s past 3:00am. He tries to take a breath to calm down, he doesn’t want to wake Derek up because then he’d have to explain why he’s laughing so hard. 

These people honestly think he and Derek are in love? Based on what? The acting they did where Derek blows him? Where he blows Derek? People blow each other all the time without being in love—what are these people talking about? He purposefully chooses not to look at the replies to the top comment, there’s no point in indulging them further. 

They can think whatever they want as long as they keep paying money towards the Hale-Stilinkski fund.

He closes his laptop, pulls the cover over his head and flips his pillow to the cool sided and finally falls into a troubled sleep.

Anything can become a routine as long as you keep with it. The next few weeks are no exception. Stiles goes to class, he goes to work, he does his homework, he pays his bills, and he hooks up with Derek on Fridays in front of a camera. 

The money keeps coming in, too. In a few more weeks he might be able to quit his job at the library. Soon enough they’re talking about Thanksgiving in the group chat. How did Thanksgiving come around again already? Weren’t they just thankful like last month?

Time really does start going faster the older you get. It must fly for Derek, the geezer.

The university gives them the entire week off. Ostensibly, they’re supposed to use the week to get ready for finals. Realistically, they know that half the students and faculty would skip those classes anyway. 

Even with the week off of school, the Hale-Stilinski-Hale household still has obligations keeping them from returning to Beacon Hills for the entire week. Stiles begs off his shifts at Starbucks the latter half of the week, Isaac indulges him because he knows it’ll be dull with no one at school - 90% of their clientele is based around the university.

Scott and Derek move mountains to get some time free as well. Derek uses the first half of the week while Scott and Stiles are working to make major strides on his thesis, enough growth to justify doing nothing for a couple days at home, being grateful and shit. 

Thanksgiving is going down at the Hale house this year, as Stiles and the Sheriff hosted the previous year. Stiles confirmed with Melissa that he’s in charge of the mashed potatoes—his mom’s recipe, the only thing she could make consistently well. Melissa tries to convince him again for the recipe, no dice Missy.

“I’ll get you one day,” she says in defeat over the phone.

“It’s a family recipe, Melissa. My mom would rise from her grave if I just handed it over to anyone,” he sidesteps a bike on his way to his last library shift of November.

“Now you’re just insulting me,” she says, a ghost of amusement in her voice, “anyone? I’m anyone?”

“You’re more than anyone,” Stiles concedes.

“But you still won’t budge?”

“She will rise from the grave, I cannot stress this enough.” Stiles explains again, “I had to sign a blood oath, literally.”

He can hear her smiling over the phone, “Alright. Well blood oaths aside, you guys are coming up on Wednesday?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Derek and Scott are on clean up, your dad is supervising them and pitching in for supplies. It’s you and me in the kitchen, kiddo.”

“I’d trust no one else,” Stiles says solemnly. “I think Scott tried to poison me yesterday and I just smiled and chewed anyway.”

Melissa laughs and then they both grow silent for a moment.

“You bring my boys back safe,” she says and he can hear the sound of a doctor being paged in the background.

“Don’t I always?”

“I’d trust no one else,” she says and then adds a quick goodbye.

  
Monday morning after he uploads this week’s porn, Stiles realizes they’ll be out of town on Friday and without access to the video supplies. Also, they are so _not_ doing it in Beacon Hills. He’s boycotting the entire town. If he didn’t get to have sexy times there while he was in high school, he is definitely not doing it when it’s for profit and with a man.

What if the town somehow knows? What if when all the hot girls come home for Christmas that year they can just like smell it in the air or something?

Stiles wouldn’t put it past Lydia to take one step into town and just know he got boned there.

“Red alert,” he hisses into the small bedroom where Derek’s still sleeping—he’s been getting some late hours in with the thesis and his wake up time keeps pushing farther and farther into the afternoon. Stiles doesn’t resent him. Yet.

“Go away Stiles,” he manages to mumble and Stiles takes that as permission to enter.

“I said red alert. What part of red alert are you not getting?”

Derek sighs and rolls towards the wall, putting his back to Stiles. “Not everyone knows what red alert means in this context, Stiles. Is this like the red alert you called when Danny might or might not have checked me out last Easter?”

“He totally did check you out and you—“

“Or is this like the red alert where you thought your dad was going on a date with the seventy year old librarian?”

“When you say stuff like that with no context you make me sound crazy,” Stiles says, coming to sit on the bed.

Derek rolls over, a smirk on his sleepy face. “You are crazy. The context is that you are crazy.”

Stiles takes a dramatically big breath and then gives Derek a shove. “C’mon, get up. We have a red alert to deal with.”

“Please get a new phrase.”

“Fine, we need to discuss operation P in V—or I guess it’s P in A? I’m not fluent in higher level gay.”

“What are you talking about, we just recorded like two days ago.”

Instead of answering right away, Stiles elects to wait for him to figure it out. He’s a smart guy and it’ll come to him. 

Derek sits straight up. “Thanksgiving.”

“Thanksgiving,” Stiles agrees. “I don’t want to skip a week, so I’m going to have to rent everything again, beg Erica for her camera, and ugh my work schedule is bananas. We might have to do this at like noon tomorrow. That’s like way too early for penetration.”

“Penetration?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says remarkably calm for discussing anal sex, “it’s operation P in A and not operation BJ part five, the Return of the Boner. Oooh! BJ part five: Boner Bites Back.”

Derek’s staring at him like he really has lost it this time. Stiles would be more worried, but he’s seen this look before.

“Are you sure you’re ready for that?”

“I mean, yeah,” Stiles bites a fingernail that’s grown too long, “people are going to get sick of the same old stuff, we have to up the ante while we still can.”

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” Derek pulls Stiles’ hand from his mouth and curls his fingers into Stiles’.

“I know that,” and Stiles really really does. Derek tells him every time. He makes it very clear and the consent is always mutually agreed upon. “I’m ready for the next step. I’ve liked everything we’ve done so far.”

Derek grimaces and Stiles corrects himself, “well almost everything but we figured that out and fixed it and then had lots of orgasms after that.”

Derek still doesn’t look convinced and Stiles looks closer, he wonders what he’s missing. Derek knows that Stiles knows his own mind and is always the first, second, and third person to speak up if he doesn’t like something.

“Is this something _you’re_ okay with?” He says quietly, ashamed of himself for not checking with Derek. Just because he likes men doesn’t mean he agrees or wants to have sex with Stiles. He’s never indicated he’s attracted to Stiles outside of their videos when he’s acting. 

“Yeah, it’s just...” he trails off uncomfortably and Stiles waits him out. 

“Just what?”

“I haven’t had full anal sex in a long time. I’m worried you think I’m this sex god that knows what he’s doing all the time and that I’ll miraculously know how to not only prep you okay, but make sure you have a good time while we’re also being recorded. What if you end up having to fake it and I’m so worried about everything I can’t get it up and what if—“

“Whoa,” Stiles says, squeezing his hand, “first of all, I do kind of think you’re a sex god, but only because I’ve been on the other end of things. But like a minor sex god—like maybe an Aztec god and not like full on Greco Roman pantheon. Besides, who the fuck would want to be Zeus? Dude’s a creep.”

“Hades isn’t much better,” Derek agrees.

“Put all that out of your mind,” Stiles tells him, “it’s going to be fine. I’m not going to have these outrageous expectations on you. I already know I’ll like it. I liked your fingers—“

“You didn’t like the toy and that’s just like having a dick up there,” Derek argues.

“I didn’t like the toy because I didn’t feel connected to you and it wasn’t warm. This will be you and me and I know I’ll like it because it’ll be you doing it to me. I mean, I’m not gay. I don’t like crave something up there all the time—“

“That’s not how being gay works, Stiles. That’s actually pretty offensive.”

Stiles ignores him and keeps talking, hoping to make this sink in, “but I’m safe with you and I’ll have a good time with you. Every part of me knows that. Do you feel safe with me?”

Derek looks away, but his grip on Stiles’ fingers gets even tighter. The blood flow might get cut off soon but Stiles isn’t going to flinch until Derek answers the question. Trust and safety have been paramount to Derek since his dad. Stiles knows Derek trusts him, he’s admitted that before. But feeling safe has a slightly different flavor than trusting someone. 

“It’s totally weird,” Derek begins, “but I do feel safe with you. I’ve never felt safe in a sexual relationship before and it’s weird because we don’t even have a sexual relationship except that we do. We have sex and we have a friendship but now they sort of overlap but it’s also more intimate than I’ve ever felt with an actual partner, you know?”

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees because it feels like that for him too. Except he’s not supposed to want to have sex with Derek because, well, he’s a dude. And Stiles is straight. 

“It’s scary,” Derek admits and, once again, Stiles agrees. “What if I never find that with someone after this? What if I never find safety and intimacy and good sex with someone who wants to share their life with me?”

“You will,” Stiles pulls their hands up to gently kiss Derek’s knuckles. It feels like the right gesture for some reason Stiles refuses to examine or name. “You’re too great to not find it again. You just have to give people the chance.” 

“We’ll see.”

“We will.”


	14. Chapter 14

“Why do you need my camera again so soon?” Erica asks that night, a half made frappuccino in her hand.

“Thanksgiving is throwing our schedule off,” Stiles says, “I can’t film in my childhood bedroom.”

“Why not?” Erica asks, “that’s kinda hot.”

Stiles concedes her point. “It’s not feasible. Even if I could bring myself to do it there, I can’t hide it from my dad, let alone all the equipment I’d need to bring. It’s too much. We just have to film in advance.”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Erica finishes the frap and eyes it distastefully like it personally offended her. “Wanna swing by my dorm on our way home and you can pick it up?”

“You’re a lady and a scholar.”

She rolls her eyes.

The walk to her dorm takes less time than when he walks back to the apartment, but it’s the complete opposite direction. 

“So how’re things between you guys?” she asks and throws one of her arms through his. It helps combat the chill in the air.

“What do you mean?” he asks, genuinely curious. 

“I mean, are things awkward? Are they fine? Do you want to bone him more often? Is the money making things weird? How are things?”

“So just a few questions, then,” he says and she giggles.

“I just want to make sure you’re okay. I know you have Scott, but at the end of the day he’s Derek’s brother and honestly it’d kinda suck to be stuck between you guys you know? Tough position to put him in.”

She steps carefully over the cracks in the sidewalk and Stiles follows her lead even though he no longer has a mom who’s back he needs to worry about.

“I figured I’d offer my services for you to complain to,” she says after he hasn’t spoken, “you know, in case you need it.”

“Things are going surprisingly well,” Stiles admits, “in a way, this has kinda brought us closer than ever.”

She raises an eyebrow and he smiles back, “yeah pun intended I guess.”

“You’re not getting your heart broken or anything are you?”

“What? Why would I get my heart broken? What we’re doing doesn’t mean anything.”

“Your brain can say that but the heart doesn’t always hear that. The heart does what it will. Thought everyone knew that.”

“No hearts on the line here,” Stiles says, “just two dudes gettin’ paid for amazing orgasms.”

“Okay,” Erica says but she has that tone that Stiles hates that means she’s placating him. It’s patronizing and rude and it grinds his nerves. But it gets her to drop it so he lets it go.

They’ve made it back to her dorm in record time and he follows her like a puppy up to her room. 

“You’ll bring it back.” 

“Of course I will,” he says, kissing her cheek in thanks. “See you tomorrow for our last shift.”

“See you tomorrow.”

Scott leaves them the apartment the next day, going for an impromptu volunteer shift at the local humane society. Stiles watches him eye the living area of the apartment, like it’s betraying him for being involved in the whole thing. Something about doing this in the day time freaks him out.

Stiles shrugs, the only difference the daylight means to him is that he has to use the blackout curtains to keep the lighting consistent with their other videos. Derek, free of his obligations temporarily, watches Stiles buzz around the apartment setting everything up.

“You could help,” he complains when the curtains don’t sit correctly and a stream of light filters brightly in. Taunting him. The curtains are taunting him. 

“It’s strange seeing this side of it,” Derek says, blatantly ignoring Stiles’ request for help.

Still struggling with the curtains, Stiles decides to ignore him back. 

“I mean,” Derek presses on, “usually when I come home, it’s just done. You have to go through this every time?”

Stiles throws the curtains up, admitting defeat for the moment. He moves over to start plugging the camera into the TV, much easier with the amount of practice he’s had. 

“Yeah, but it’s pretty easy now that it’s a routine. Normally I’d find a moment to put the coffee pot on for you.”

Derek hums and then finally gets off his lazy ass to tackle the curtains. To Stiles’ dismay, it takes him seconds.

Derek smirks over at Stiles and then like a total asshole, says, “what else do you need help with?”

“You fucker.”

“Not currently, but in about fifteen minutes, yes.”

Stiles shakes his head, “can’t believe I set you up for that one.”

Derek takes his victory with bad grace but finds small jobs to make himself useful. Stiles sees him check the nightstand for lube and a condom. Stiles finishes everything else up and then elects to take a shower. 

The not talked about thing with anal play is the amount of showering and cleaning your asshole you have to do. Stiles has never touched his asshole this much before in his life. It’s starting to feel very routine and not at all weird anymore. Like touching his own elbow.

Derek takes a perfunctory shower afterward, maybe just for a show of solidarity, Stiles isn’t sure. But it gives him time to do a preliminary stretch of himself. Just like touching his elbow. 

“Are you still okay to do this?” Derek asks while Stiles does last minute checks on the film equipment.

Stiles pauses, giving Derek his full attention. “I’m cool. I’m actually kind of excited in a way?” Maybe he wasn’t supposed to admit that. Maybe as a straight dude, he’s not supposed to be looking forward to Derek nailing his prostate, but dammit everything in him tells him this is going to be so so good. He’ll give up cool points if it helps Derek. He can give Derek peace of mind if it only costs a couple cool points.

“Are you okay moving forward?” Stiles makes sure to ask, remembering again that this isn’t just about him. It takes two to tango.

“Yeah, I’m good.” Derek says and his tone closes off any follow up remarks Stiles might have. Don’t let it be said that Stiles can’t take a hint. He usually chooses not to, but he will in this case.

“Super casual reminder that we can stop at any time,” Stiles says to Derek’s blank face.

Instead of acknowledging Stiles’ hint, he says, “So what’s the story this time?”

Here we go, Stiles thinks.

  
It’s the same trite story line, the same lead up—Derek approaches a falsely shy Stiles who doth protest too much and then the hanky panky starts.

This time though, Derek revs them up higher, faster.

“You’re going to take me, this time,” he says just loudly enough for the camera to catch. He’s already naked and leaning over an also naked Stiles, one hand on Stiles’ slim hips to balance himself, and the others’ fingers moving cautiously in and out of Stiles’ hole.

They’ve been here before and danced this tango. 

“Did you hear me?” Derek barks, adding another finger a couple seconds too early. The stretch burns but the pain piggybacks the pleasure and Stiles doesn’t fight the moan that leaves his mouth.

“You’re going to take my dick,” Derek’s hand grips harder on Stiles’ hip, “and you’re going to love it. You’re going to come hanging off my dick.”

“Yes,” Stiles’ mouth agrees without consulting the rest of him. “Yes, want it.” 

“I’ll give it to you,” Derek says and this is not a version of him that Stiles has ever seen, but it still rings true. This Derek knows what he wants and goes directly from point A to point B in order to get it. This must be what Derek is like if he ever did competitive sports. The closest Stiles has seen of this Derek is the time they got kicked out of the bowling alley. He much prefers the version that’s giving him this amount of pleasure.

“Please,” he hears himself saying and this wasn’t really in the plan, but that’s why they only plan the scenes in the vaguest of outlines, because neither of them know how they’re going to react until they’re there and now Stiles, above all else, just really, really, really wants Derek’s cock in him. 

“Turn over on your back,” Derek pulls his fingers out slowly, “I want to watch your face while I fuck you. I want to watch you gagging for it.”

Stiles obediently turns onto his back before he even thinks to question the order. A small trickle of concern falls down into his stomach once he realizes. Because Stiles questions every order he’s ever been given. Ever. Even by his own father. It’s an innate part of him that he can’t help. He has a healthy respect for authority, especially with his dad’s job, but he learned early on that the world is a bad place sometimes and you can’t trust everyone. Derek’s dad taught him that. He rarely listens and always has to hear the logic in the request before he complies, so for Derek to say “jump” and Stiles immediately jumps—that’s something to think about later.

He didn’t even ask “how high?”

“Hey,” Derek caresses his cheek with his non-lubed hand and when Stiles can stop freaking out enough to make eye contact, he’s got the questioning eyes. “You’re thinking a lot. You okay? Still okay to do this?”

Stiles nods and leans up to peck him quickly even though he already knows he’s going to have to cut this part out. This kiss is for the concerned wrinkle between Derek’s eyes.

“I’m okay, just thinking how easily I fall into it with you. Please carry on with the fucking.”

“Let me know if you need to stop,” Derek reminds him, his thumb swiping sweetly over Stiles’ cheekbone and it feels so intimate that Stiles feels very small and part of something bigger than himself.

He doesn’t know what the bigger thing is, which should be terrifying, but he knows Derek is there too and Derek is the other part of it and that makes it feel safe.

“I won’t want you to stop, but the same goes for you too,” Stiles kisses the thumb and Derek nods.

Derek quickly kisses his forehead and then leans back and rubs his hands up and down Stiles’ thighs. It’s comforting and sexy and Stiles can barely stand it because he just wants Derek in him now. He curls his legs around Derek, hoping he’ll get the hint without Stiles having to do any more embarrassing begging.

“Let me get a condom,” Derek says, patting his thighs so Stiles will give him some space, “the faster I get the condom on the faster I can be fucking you.”

Stiles drops his legs and definitely doesn’t moan. 

“Hurry,” he whispers and Derek tries to silence a little giggle but Stiles isn’t sure if the camera is going to pick it up or not. For the video he hopes not, it feels too much like real Derek.

Derek slips the condom on with shaking hands, he then spreads a little more lube onto his dick and Stiles isn’t sure if he’s ever been more ready for something.

“Please,” Stiles says, “please fuck me.”

“How eager you are for this dick,” Derek teases the tip at his opening, “I remember not too long ago you were ‘straight’ and weren’t sure you’d even like a blow job. Here we are, sweetheart. Here we are and you’re begging me to fuck you.”

Stiles pushes his hips towards Derek, like he can spear his dick into him. “Please, please, Der...” He almost says Derek’s name but maybe he can pass that off as ‘dear’ in editing.

“Need you,” he says and he has never been so aware of his own asshole before, even all those times he had to clean it in the shower, even when Derek had three fingers in it earlier tonight, even that time the girl he was with stuck a finger up there with no notice. It’s never felt so empty before.

“Then you can have me, sweetheart,” Derek says and then slowly ever so slowly, he starts to push in.

“More, I can take it,” Stiles says when Derek doesn’t go any faster.

“You’ll take what I give you,” Derek says and damn that does something to Stiles. He lets out a whine and feels like he did when his mom didn’t buy him any candy at the movie theater. 

“Please,” Stiles begs again.

Finally, finally Derek pushes all the way in and Stiles feels so full. It doesn’t feel like the vibrator. Derek was so worried he’d hate it because of how he reacted to the vibrator but this is worlds different. This is Derek. He’s warm and huge and hitting Stiles’ prostate already which isn’t fair that the sex gods blessed him so, but Stiles is reaping the results so he’s not too mad.

Derek slowly pulls back out, giving Stiles time to adjust if he needs to. The edge of pain only doubles his pleasure. “More,” Stiles says, his legs going around Derek’s hips to push him back.

“You feel so good. Knew you would feel this good. Tight. Taking my dick so good.”

Somehow in all this Stiles’ eyes slid shut and he actively doesn’t remember when. He opens them now, to see Derek’s multicolored eyes watching him with concern, the edge of pleasure making his pupils blow wide. 

He’s the most beautiful thing Stiles has ever seen.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he accidentally says, that was supposed to be an inside thought. He’ll be having another come to Jesus meeting with his mouth about this latest faux pas.

Interestingly, Derek’s cheeks darken and even though he’s thrusting into Stiles, he looks embarrassed. Stiles mentally adds that to his Derek Folder. 

Stiles spares a glance at the TV to make sure they’re in frame, mad at himself for forgetting to check before. They’re still in frame and honestly, Stiles loses a breath because they look amazing together. He sees Derek on top of him, thrusting powerfully, his thighs clenching with each thrust, his back undulating and he’s a masterpiece. 

“Yeah,” Stiles says breathlessly, “most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” 

The thrusts speed up and Stiles feels closer and closer to the edge—Derek has been brushing his prostate and he can see the white light at the end of the tunnel.

“I’m close” Stiles says, “harder, c’mon I need it harder.”

Derek leans back, pulls Stiles up by his hips and gives himself a better angle to push in harder. Stiles’ eyes roll into his head in pleasure and seven thrusts later, Derek’s hand finds its way to Stiles dick and it takes a couple pulls and Stiles is spilling all over himself. 

Derek comes soon after and falls onto Stiles’ chest to pant into his neck. They lay together, chests still heaving, sweat and come and lube everywhere. The air feels cool on Stiles’ skin with all the wet substances. He likes lying under Derek, still connected together. Derek feels like a shield against the world—like he’s always been, but this time a bit more literal.

“Am I crushing you?” Derek asks, making no effort to move.

“Nah,” Stiles says, hugging Derek to him and wanting to stay in the moment as long as possible, the residual high still present in the space between them.

Sex has never been like this. Maybe it’s because he’s never been the one penetrated before and it’s just always more intense, but something tells him that’s not true. 

The handful of hook ups he managed in his time at college have never felt like this. Even Julie who he’d had sex with a couple of times and learned enough about her to make it even better—never felt like this. Especially on the first try. Sure, they had fooled around before but this isn't’ the first time Stiles has thought that this sex is better than any other sex he’s had before. 

He doesn’t know what Derek is thinking about, but Stiles brings a hand up to pet his hair and flatten it back down. Derek lets out a long breath and nuzzles closer into Stiles’ neck.

“Sex isn’t usually like this, right?” Stiles hesitantly speaks, afraid to break the mood.

Derek nips his shoulder playfully, and says “no,” with a look in his eyes that Stiles can’t decipher. Derek kisses him gently on the forehead, he seems to be fond of that, and finally pulls out.


	15. Chapter 15

Stiles doesn’t have time to over analyze his ass-devirginizing. Once Derek leaves, he cleans the room up as best he can and runs to his shift at Starbucks, Erica’s camera in tow. He triple checks that he removed the SD card. His mind is so scattered that he fears this would be the time he forgets and he finds out when his ass is plastered on instagram.

There aren’t many customers, as predicted, but Isaac uses their shift to deep clean everything—the cooler, the machines, the floor. Stiles is up to his elbows in sudsy water and polisher for five hours before he gets to go home, pack, and immediately start editing so that he’s ready to upload on his normal schedule. There’s no way he can concentrate in Beacon Hills on editing his sex tape when Melissa, or worse, _his dad_ could look over his shoulder and ask what the hell he’s working on, and who’s ass he’s staring at.

His dad caught him watching porn one time and that was bad enough—imagine catching him editing his own porn. Stiles would bypass death and go straight into a black hole.

He finishes the edit that same night, emailing Derek the final version at 3:14am. One less thing to think about. Coming out of the editing cave, Stiles realizes they are leaving at 8:00am and he hasn’t packed anything at all.

Quietly, Stiles sneaks into the little bedroom, trying not to disturb Derek. His sad excuse for a suitcase lives under the bed, the only place that’s out of the way enough. He also drew the short straw when they moved in and had to leave all his stuff in the third hand dresser in the little bedroom.

“Shit shit shit,” Stiles says when the drawer squeaks as he pulls it open. He hears Derek squirm behind him and hopes he hasn’t woken him up—he put in hours on his thesis that evening and deserves the rest. He also has to drive first shift which is going to suck as none of them are morning people. Scott and Stiles elected Derek on the grounds that he’s the oldest and thus most responsible. Derek didn’t appreciate that much.

“Stiles?” Derek’s sleepy voice says and Stiles drops his bag, giving up on subtlety. 

“Hey sorry,” he whispers, “all my shit is in here and I haven’t packed. Just finished editing and wanted to get this done before I get a little sleep.”

“Okay, finish up then come to bed.”

“I have the couch tonight,” Stiles says, a little confused.

“Sleeping in the car is going to suck and that couch isn’t much better. You can just share with me for a few hours.”

“I guess I did already wake you up,” Stiles concedes, stuffing a couple t-shirts into the bag. He grabs the few clean basketball shorts he has left and shoves them in after the shirts. He doesn’t think about the fact that Derek has fucked him in all four pairs. He really needs new clothes.

“You done?” Derek mumbles.

“Yeah, I think I am. I’m sure I forgot something but whatever.” He zips up the bag and throws it towards the door so he won’t forget it in the morning. Then he tries not to think about Derek watching him as he slips out of his shirt and shorts. Derek lost his chance to be a wilting flower when he fucked him earlier in the day.

Stiles tries to stifle his laugh. That’s really a thing that happened.

The bed calls to him like it’s a siren and he’s an 18th century sailor. He sinks onto the left side, elbowing Derek to move over.

“Dude,” Derek doesn’t move, “dude you have the whole bed, scooch.”

“It’s a full, Stiles, there’s nowhere to move.” Derek grabs him and rearranges his body until he’s spooned behind Stiles and then promptly falls back to sleep.

“Are we really fucking spooning?” Stiles says apparently just to himself. He hates how comfortable he is and decides this is the gayest thing he’s done today. Then he falls asleep too.

  
The car ride is long enough to remind Stiles why they don’t drive home very often. Derek drives four hours in the morning and Stiles doesn’t completely fall asleep but rather falls into a limbo adjacent to sleep that is neither restful nor allows time to go by quickly.

Instead, he’s just stuck listening to Derek and Scott sing along badly to the radio. The Hales are blessed with their looks but not in the music department. 

Scott hits some notes that he probably learned from his dog friends.

He joins them for lunch at good old McDonald’s. McDonald’s on a road trip is the epitome of a liminal space. There are millions across the world, but they don’t change that much. Even the people are somehow the same, the same dingy clothes and long acrylic nails and someone is screaming, sometimes it’s a kid and sometimes it’s a grown adult having a tantrum at the teenage manager. It’s exactly what you expect anytime you enter a McDonald’s—it always sinks down to your expectations. 

Everyone uses the bathroom and Stiles forces three refills down the Hales’ throats—they are paying good money for this shit. If you’re going to get drinks, you might as well go inside. Stiles lives for free refills.

Within thirty minutes and maybe five sentences total between them, they’re back in the old Honda and it’s Stiles’ shift to drive. Scott offers to sit shotgun and let Derek rest in the back seat, but Derek shrugs it off. 

“I’m good. I know you worked crazy hours at the clinic this week. Sleep while you can. I’ll keep Stiles entertained.”

“It’s a hard job, man,” Scott says, already hopping in the backseat.

“I’ve got what it takes, coach,” Derek swings the passenger side door open and makes himself comfortable, throwing Scott’s pillow back at him.

They make pretty good time but the hours feel three times as long as normal. Stiles recounts his favorite two seasons of Buffy and Derek doesn’t kill him, only chimes in where his memory is better than Stiles’ to correct him. 

Stiles needles Derek about his thesis and even though it’s like pulling teeth, manages to get a working understanding of what he’s been researching. Spanish poetry in the 17th century sounds.... well, it sounds god awful, in Stiles’ opinion. But Derek sounds passionate when he talks about it, so Stiles keeps asking questions. 

They pass the Welcome to Beacon Hills sign in the early afternoon. Stiles makes Derek call both their parents to let them know they’re close. Scott wakes up in time to stare longingly at Allison’s favorite coffee shop. It’s a yoga studio now. The times, they keep ‘a changing. 

“Dude, really?” He shakes his head and Scott continues to stare mournfully even as it disappears into the rear view mirror. 

“I spent a lot of time there,” he says sheepishly.

“And now you don’t have to.”

Stiles drives to his house first. It looks exactly the same and that feels stranger than anything else. It’s like he spent months away at college, but only five minutes have passed in Beacon Hills, no matter that the trees are brown and orange instead of green.

His dad walks out the front door, arms already open to greet him. He throws his arms around Stiles and Stiles sinks into the comfort of home. If his dad catches him smelling his neck, he doesn’t say anything because he’s likely doing the same thing.

“Dad,” Stiles says around the frog in his throat.

“Son,” he squeezes a little tighter and then moves to greet the Hales. They both get their own hugs, complete with back pats, but sans the neck smelling. 

“Boys,” his dad says, “how was the drive?”

“Only two seasons of Buffy this time,” Derek reports, the suck up. 

“But he slept the first four hours,” Scott unhelpfully adds.

“You got off lucky then,” his dad says and Stiles rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up at the guy with ADHD.”

He pretends to sulk while he goes to grab his duffel from the trunk, but Derek already has it in hand. He places the handle in Stiles’ hand with a smirk. It looks devastating on his face. Stiles is reminded again of how nice his face is. It’s really not fair. 

Stiles doesn’t bother to say good bye to Scott and Derek since he’ll see them early tomorrow. He’s going to spend the evening with good old father and son time and he’s beyond thrilled.

The Stilinskis celebrate with veggie pizza and a _Die Hard_ marathon. They talk comfortably over the movies since they’ve both seen them so many times. Stiles catches up on Sheriff’s office gossip—Officer Moore got engaged!—and updates his dad on how his classes are going. He makes up a white lie about getting a raise at the library to account for his funds. Nothing remotely close to porn comes up.

Stepping into his childhood bedroom, Stiles feels like he’s stepping into the skin of newly eighteen-year-old Stiles again, rather than very mature nineteeen-and-a-half Stiles. He can’t help but check his desk for AP Chem homework, like it’s muscle memory that won’t go away. Maybe twenty-year-old Stiles won’t have this problem next year.

His dad was in charge of groceries this Thanksgiving, since Melissa is hosting so they don’t need to stop by the store on their way to the Hales’ place in the preserve the next morning. Undoubtedly and unavoidably, something will have been forgotten and someone will lose a game of rock, paper, scissors and have to go grab the missing items, usually getting a few frantic texts while they are still out with other missing necessities. But without knowing what those missing items are yet, the Stilinskis bypass the store and park under the elm tree in the Hales’ yard.

The Hales have the nicest house in town. Mr. Hale’s family came from money so he and Melissa bought the house when that money was still coming in. Melissa kept afloat after the divorce with generous child support the judge granted her after hearing about her ex-husband’s treatment of Derek.

Now that both boys are over eighteen, though, the child support stopped and Stiles is sure Melissa hasn’t seen a dime since Scott’s birthday, no matter that college is expensive. 

Derek fought for scholarships and grants when he applied for grad school and Scott attempts to send a couple hundred bucks his mom’s way when he can—not that she accepts it. The Hale pride is actually the McCall pride and Melissa McCall’s sons both come by it honestly. Derek and Scott do their best to take care of all their own needs independently.

The house is beautiful, though, there’s no denying that. It’s all wooded yard and picture windows, a big wrap around porch with mismatched but comfy rocking chairs. Stiles notices a couple fresh stumps in the yard, the only evidence that time passed here in Beacon Hills without him. 

He yells for Derek and Scott to help him bring the groceries inside since they aren’t doing any of the hard work today. He hears Melissa bellow at them from the kitchen, but both Hale boys are already walking outside to help. 

Scott’s sporting a long line down the side of his face, like he fell asleep on his phone again. Stiles can’t wait for him to properly introduce Kira to them as his girlfriend. This secretive thing isn’t for Stiles, but he recognizes that because they share literally everything else in their lives, maybe Scott needs his own thing that’s just for him. Stiles thinks this is very mature of him.

Derek follows closely on Scott’s heels, still obviously sleepy and his hair is going every direction but flat. It’s endearing.

“C’mon you loafs,” Stiles’ dad says from the back side of the Jeep, “the faster we get the food inside, the faster we can eat it.”

Stiles rolls his eyes because it doesn’t really work that way, but he appreciates his dad’s effort. Regardless, it lights a fire under Derek and Scott. They take one big trip, all fingers occupied with grocery bags and Derek’s already ragging on Scott and claiming to be carrying more.

“Yeah but my bags are heavier,” Scott argues and it’s as comforting as sleeping with a fan at night—relaxing and constant and drowns out bad thoughts.

“I have more bags and they’re heavier,” Stiles’ dad says to shut them both up, “Look, I have the turkey.”

“Well give it here,” Melissa says, popping into the foyer with a slightly dirty dish towel already slung over her shoulder. “I’ve gotta get this baby prepped and in the over. Everything else can wait.”

She grabs the turkey from Stiles’ dad while Stiles directs everyone else where to put the groceries. There’s a tried and true method to doing this right and Melissa and Stiles figured out the formula through years of trial and error. He’s not about to let anyone else screw this up for them.

“Did you defrost it, John?” 

Stiles scoffs, and doesn’t give his dad a chance to reply before he’s butting in, “Of course I defrosted it, we’re not heathens.”

“You can never be sure,” she says absently, removing the turkey from the plastic wrapping and working her magic, “you’ve forgotten before.”

“Once!” Stiles says, “and I was ten. I think allowances can be made.”

“You were ten,” she says to Stiles, then quirks an eyebrow over at his dad, “what’s your excuse?”

“Fresh widowhood.”

“Point.”

Derek and Scott melt into the background and Stiles and Melissa take over the kitchen. 

Dinner is lovely—they follow up their meal with turkey induced naps in front of the football game that no one cares about and then wake up enough to play some family games. This is Stiles’ favorite part of the holidays. They try to play a new one each time and the only rule is that Derek and Stiles have to be on the same team so that no one ends up crying and/or in the emergency room.

This year they play “Werewolf Game” in which the group has to determine who the murderer is, (the werewolf) before they successfully murder the entire group. Stiles turns out to be a savant and slaughters them all. His dad comes in second, because all the Hales cannot lie for the life of them. Or maybe Stiles can just read them all way too well. That comes from living on top of each other for ten years. 

Stiles’ dad lets him and Scott have a beer each and Stiles is so content. He feels the love ooze out of everyone around him and it’s honestly kind of gross but also overwhelming. He misses his mom with a strong pang in his stomach. He allows himself a couple minutes to sit in his grief before he reminds himself that everyone in this room loves him.

The games turn into a quick round of leftovers and then they’re all back on the couch, this time watching some stupid movie that none of them care about. Stiles sits between Scott and Derek and there’s something to tryptophan because his eyes are closing fast and he’s sinking deeper and deeper into slumber.

He wakes up some time later to strong, familiar hands guiding him upstairs. He recognizes the hairy knuckles and the gentleness of the fingers. He feels safe with Derek, always. He lets himself relax and Derek herds him upstairs into his room.

The bed smells like Derek. It smells like comfort and home and temptation itself. He toes off his shoes and burrows into the unmade covers. Distantly, he recognizes Derek crawling in beside him, and he’s asleep as soon as Derek’s chest touches his back. 


	16. Chapter 16

“Stiles, wake up. You’re going to be late.”

Stiles doesn’t care if he’s ever on time to anything ever from now on because he wants to stay just like this forever. He’s warm and comfortable and he can feel Derek behind him rubbing his whiskery chin into the back of Stiles’ neck and it feels nice, okay? He really really likes it and would like to never move, please.

“Stiles,” Derek says again but it’s soft and the cadence is patient. Stiles doesn’t mind hearing his name from Derek like this, it feels intimate.

He takes a deep breath, finding his chest slightly restricted with Derek’s arm around it like that. He pulls his hand up to stroke the soft looking hairs on Derek’s forearms, like he would pet Danny’s cat when no one was looking.

Stiles imagines that Derek would purr if he could, he’s definitely not a demonstrative guy, but those who really know him can tell when he’s content.

“Don’t wanna get up,” Stiles whines, pushing his feet backwards until they’re tangled between Derek’s.

Derek takes a deep breath close to Stiles’ head and Stiles can almost believe that he’s taking in the comfort Stiles is offering. He doesn’t pet just anybody, this is special treatment.

“You’re going to be late for breakfast with your dad. He said he’d come pick you up this morning.”

“Those might be the only words that can make me move right now,” Stiles murmurs into Derek’s arm. “Sorry I crashed with you,” he adds, even though it’s a complete lie because it turns out he loves sleeping with Derek. Sleeping in the same bed as Derek. Co-sleeping. Not like, sex. Although, he reminds himself, he kinda likes that too, doesn’t he?

“You’re always welcome to crash with me,” Derek says. He squeezes Stiles and then starts to pull away from him. It’s the last push Stiles needs. Stupid Derek for retracting his warmth.

“Alright, Stiles getting up now.”

“Bye,” Derek turns over, but manages to pat Stiles’ thigh. Stiles heaves himself out of the bed and watches Derek fall back asleep. It’s like he woke up just long enough to wake Stiles up.

He leans forward to the sleeping Derek and places a kiss on his forehead and for the life of him he can’t figure out why it felt necessary.

Turns out the diner has changed less than everything else in town, which is so say it looks the goddamn same, down to the brown stain on the side of the booth his dad always forces him into. Stiles definitely has wondered over the years what it is but none of the servers remember and even the owner, Marvin, claims it’s been there since before the dinosaurs. 

“So my dad might know?” He joked at the time and his dad frowned at him. Old jokes never went over well.

Stiles spends a pleasurable breakfast with his dad, already in uniform and about to head in. He steers all conversation against anything to do with a tangent that might make him think about the porn. He’s used to not filtering himself around his dad and Stiles rides tangents like the surfers ride the waves.

He’s not too busy avoiding certain topics to notice that his dad is doing the same, but at the risk of being called out in turn, Stiles lets it slide.

His dad drops him back off at the Hale house since that’s where the food and entertainment are and then Stiles throws himself onto the couch, too wide awake from all the coffee to try to go back to sleep.

Scott stumbles down the stairs ten minutes into the “Jeopardy” episode Stiles started and he’s suspiciously wearing his good jeans. Stiles looks closer and notices he combed his hair. Cue the Kill Bill sirens.

“Are you meeting with Allison?” Because why else would he put this much effort into his appearance? 

“Jesus!” Scott jumps about a mile, “How long have you been sitting there?”

“About ten minutes.”

“Why?” Scott asks while he throws a light rain jacket over his back. He checks his appearance in the hall mirror. There’s no fixing that crooked jaw but the rest of him looks better than usual. 

“Food,” Stiles answers honestly, “So, Allison?”

Scott sends him a tight lipped smile, “Yeah, we’re trying to be friends.”

“That’s not going to work, dude,” Stiles says softly. 

Scott walks over and sits on the edge of the couch. He rubs his hands over his face, “I think I know that, but I kinda have to try.”

“Why,” Stiles echos the question, muting the TV. It’s a commercial break anyway. 

“Because at one point, I loved her. Part of me will always love her. And when you love someone, you want the best things for them.”

“Even when it’s going to hurt you? She broke your heart, man.”

“It’s been a long time now. It doesn’t hurt as much. I think it will be the good kind of hurt to see her and not the bad kind.”

“What’s the good kind of hurt?” Stiles asks. He’s never had his heart obliterated like Scott did after Allison decided freshman year that long distance wasn’t working for her.

“The kind that means you’re getting over it. Like when I went through that growth spurt in high school and my legs would hurt but my mom told me it was because I was growing up. It’s kinda like that.”

“Growing pangs,” Stiles defines for him. “That’s deep, dude.”

Scott huffs a laugh.

“Where does Kira fit into all this?” Stiles makes his eyes as innocent as possible, knowing that Scott is the only person in the family this still works on. 

“What?” Scott sputters, “Kira and I are just friends. What are you—what are you even talking about?”

“It’s okay to fall for someone new, Scott,” Stiles sits up and places a hand on Scott’s shoulder. 

To his credit, Scott doesn’t deny it. He does try to deflect though. “Since we seem to be having this deep conversation, what about what’s going on with you and Derek, bro?”

“The porn?” Stiles asks, confused because he’s never hidden the porn from Scott. He was there for the seed of the idea. He printed out their sex contract. 

“No,” Scott says, “the feelings?”

“There are no feelings,” Stiles says. It’s still a commercial break—something about a prescription that makes you skip through a field of flowers but the side effects include death and impotency. 

Scott makes an agreeable sound but manages to also make it sarcastic. Stiles hates him immensely. 

“Are we even now?” Scott asks, “Can I go meet Allison now that we’ve both made each other uncomfortable?”

Stiles un-mutes the television. “Sure, go say hi to Allison and I’ll sit here and eat your share of the leftover turkey.”

Scott ruffles Stiles’ hair because he knows how much Stiles hates that and then grabs the keys on his way out the door.

Stiles enjoys a couple episodes of Jeopardy until Melissa walks through the door, clearly coming off a shift. She looks tired, but not the bone weary tiredness that she used to have when she was constantly worrying about putting her two boys through school. There’s a noticeable lack of burden on her and Stiles smiles to himself and lets himself take a small percentage of the credit for that. He’s helped ease her burden and she doesn’t even know. 

Melissa and Stiles spend an entire episode of Jeopardy trying to beat each other by shouting the answers before the other. Derek gets his competitiveness from her and it shows.

When the episode winds down and Melissa is one question ahead, she says “ready for food yet?”

“I know what you’re doing, trying to distract me so that you win but as it turns out I am still a teenage boy and I’m always ready for food.”

She smirks Derek’s smirk at him and he rolls his eyes. Without prompting, he follows her into the kitchen. She’s not going to bring him a plate. She will make her own plate and then glare at him until he gets off his butt and makes his own. He might as well make sure she doesn’t take the last of the green bean casserole. She’s sneaky like that. 

Instead of heading back to the couch, Melissa sits at the breakfast table off the kitchen and waits for Stiles to finish with the microwave and then pats the seat next to her. 

Stiles concedes the battle of Jeopardy and heads to sit next to her. Meal number two of one on one with a parent or parental figure. He is totally making Scott and Derek eat dinner tonight. He can’t handle holding in secrets like this, he needs someone running interference and making sure he doesn’t blurt out porn secrets.

“You taking care of my boys, Stiles?” Melissa says after she’s taken a couple of bites.

“Of course,” he’s taking care of certain needs for Derek, so in a way he’s going above and beyond duty.

“Uh huh,” she says and that’s all Melissa, neither of her kids ever learned how to get that edge into two syllables—not even a real word and she can make anybody feel two feet tall, “And how’s Scott?”

He’s not sure if he’s on trial right now or not. He decides to respond as if it’s a genuine question and not obviously leading somewhere, “Scotty’s good. Hanging out with Kira and trying to pretend Derek and I don’t know.”

“Funny phrasing,” she says after a long beat. She takes another bite of mashed potatoes and Stiles almost expires from the anticipation. He did not wake up prepared for a battle of the minds with Melissa McCall, but here they are and he is losing.

“What do you mean?” He says when she clearly isn’t going to continue. 

She takes a delicate sip of her tea, and then says, “You and Derek.”

“Well it’s certainly not me and Scott and Kira,” he wishes she would just get to the point. She doesn’t know about the porn does she? She’s bringing up Stiles and Derek. He’s on the edge of his seat and he realizes he hasn’t taken a bite of his food. It’s about to start getting cold. He takes a bite of the green bean casserole and she manages to ruin that for him because it doesn’t taste like anything.

“I just have heard a lot about you and Derek. You two seem close. Closer than usual.” Stiles’ heart drops into his stomach. She knows. She totally knows about the porn. She totally knows that her older son pounded him into the mattress just days ago. She’s going to tell his dad. His life is over. 

He’ll have to start a new life in Mexico. They’ll call him Paco or something stupid and he’ll have to actually learn Spanish and not just random nouns and like two verbs. He doesn’t even like Mexican food that much and all the Mexican food he’s had is like totally Americanized. So he won’t even know what things are called and he’s going to starve and they’ll bury him in a grave marked Paco. 

“You and Scott aren’t fighting or anything are you?”

Oh thank the Lord, and Zeus, and the Egyptian gods whose names he can never remember. She doesn’t know. He feels his heart swim back up to where it belongs like the salmon swim upstream, in jerks. 

“No,” Stiles says, now just genuinely confused, “Everything with Scott is fine. Great, even. Derek and I have just been spending time together—watching documentaries and stuff. Nothing crazy, just bro stuff.”

Melissa also seems relieved and Stiles isn’t sure where she’s getting off because he’s the one on the wrong end of the interrogation. She takes another sip of her tea, “Well be careful with him and your ‘bro’ stuff. He’s always had a little crush on you and I would hate for you to break his heart.”

Record skip. Stiles thinks the world has fallen out from below him. 

“What?” His voice says without conscious thought from his internal filter. His whole body is just one big what so it makes sense that’s the only thing that comes out.

“And make sure Scott isn’t left out,” Melissa says, sounding like she thinks this vein of the conversation is over, but, no... Stiles is clearly missing something and that’s rare.

“Sorry, back to the part about Derek having a crush on me?” Are these real words that’s saying right now? Never in a million years did he thinks those words in that order would ever pass his lips. Is this the Matrix? Is he in the Matrix right now? Neo, Neo help!

“He didn’t say anything to me, of course, but a mom knows her kid.” Melissa pushes the mashed potatoes around on her plate and then looks up and locks eyes with Stiles. He wonders what she sees in his, because he can’t name even one of the thousands of emotions spiraling through him, “Once he told us he was bi I was like ‘that explains Stiles then.’”

“How does what explain Stiles? Just.... what. I am so confused here.”

Maybe she starts to pick up on his distress because she pats his forearm in the most maternal manner she’s ever taken with him and says, “Honey, that boy cares about you.”

That’s not up for debate, that’s a cornerstone of who Stiles is as a person.“I know that. He’s family. I care about him too.”

“Stiles, you don’t think it’s weird that your best friend’s older brother cares about you this deeply? Most BFFs don’t intertwine their entire families like you and Scott. In fact, if Derek didn’t love you too, I doubt we’d celebrate all holidays like this. It would be you and your dad, maybe that great aunt you can’t stand.

Part of Stiles, the part that’s not actively breaking down, is still in Jeopardy answering mode, because he answers without thinking with that dreaded aunt’s name, “Matilda.”

“Sure, Matilda. And Scott, Derek, and I would celebrate quietly together, maybe go up to my parents’ place in Sacramento.”

“If you don’t want to celebrate with us, Melissa, it’s okay, like the Stilinskis can take a fucking hint. That’s one thing we’re pretty good at. We don’t always act on that hint, but we notice it.”

She laughs softly, disregarding the stress she’s causing him. Not celebrate together? How can he be apart from Derek and Scott on holidays? Holidays are for family and he relies on them like they rely on him. Melissa never wanted to celebrate with them? Stiles’ poor heart jerks in another direction and he’s going to have to start getting the heart healthy knock off version of Cheerios because he cannot take this kind of stress.

“Of course I want to celebrate with you Stilinskis,” she rubs his forearm again and damn her but it does calm him down some, “That’s not what I’m getting at.”

“What are you getting at?”

“Let me finish talking and I’ll get there,” she sighs exasperatedly, it’s a tactic to calm him down and it works. It’s classic Melissa, 110% done with her boys’ shit. He’s been getting that exact same sigh since he was too young to remember anything, “Learn some patience, boy. We are this close because both of my sons love you. You snuck your way into our hearts and now we’re stuck with you and you’re stuck with us. Those boys will never let you go. The difference, is that Scott loves you like another brother. And Derek just loves you.”

“He’s my best friend,” he hears his voice say but his mind is white.

“Yeah, and you’re his, I’m not diminishing that. What I’m saying is, I think there’s a good chance his feelings for you are deeper than friendship or platonic. I think he might care about you romantically and if you aren’t going to feel that way about him, I want you to be careful with him and not break his heart. You know getting close to people is hard for him and there’s literally no one closer than you. Not even Scott and not even me.”

“We’re not...” Stiles tries to protest, still stumbling over Melissa’s words and trying to create meaning from them. 

“When I poked my head into his room earlier you were in his bed. That’s why I even bothered to say something.”

“I just needed to crash and his bed is bigger than Scott’s.”

“If that’s all it is, that’s fine, Stiles. We can pretend this conversation never happened. I just want to make sure you don’t willingly hurt him.” 

Hurt Derek? Stiles would rather pull his own fingernails out. Watching him go through everything with his dad was bad enough. Watching him try to navigate the world when people only want his looks and his face was hard enough. Watching people blatantly attempt to use him hurts enough. All Derek wants is for people to see past his face and see who he really is. Stiles can’t imagine a scenario where he would put Derek in a place to be in pain. That’s... unthinkable. Inconceivable. “I wouldn’t. I won’t. I—I never want Derek in pain, that’s not even a question, I...”

“You’re sure you don’t have any feelings for him?” her brown eyes twinkle at him warmly, “I’d love to be able to officially call you my son.”

“No, I’m straight, Mel. I don’t.... just because I care about him doesn’t mean I—“

“Don’t hurt yourself. And don’t hurt my son. Either of them.”

Stiles takes his plate to the sink, realizes that he didn’t eat any of it and after scraping everything into the trash, puts it in the dishwasher with limbs that feel like they belong to someone else. 

He chooses to walk the three miles back to his house rather than run into Derek right now. 


	17. Chapter 17

Sunday finds Stiles driving the Accord back to Los Angeles with Scott passed out in the back and Derek scrolling through his phone and humming along to Alanis Morrisett in the passenger seat.

Stiles can’t get comfortable behind the wheel, he hasn’t been comfortable since Melissa pulled a rug out from under him. He shoots a covert glance Derek’s way—he’s sitting slouched in the seat, beard with a day longer growth than he usually allows and the morning sun hits his face in such a way that he looks angelic. Or he at least looks like the model the renaissance painters based the angels on because damn. His green eyes glow when he turns and catches Stiles’ eye.

Stiles abruptly turns back to the wheel and squirms again in his seat.

“What?” Derek asks, his eyebrows rising precariously on his forehead.

“Nothing,” Stiles says, swallowing his curiosity. Could Derek really have feelings for him? Like, real romantic feelings? 

No way. Stiles is the second kid brother. Stiles is the annoying hanger on that symbioted his way into a friendship with Derek because of his friendship with Scott. It was pure survival for Derek to be friends with Stiles.

A small voice in Stiles’ head reminds him that what Melissa said is true—other friends’ older siblings don’t have to become friends with the friend too. Older siblings don’t have to create their own unique friendship that offers differences from the original friends. Older siblings don’t have to move in. Derek could have easily found a sugar daddy or something and lived in luxury.

Melissa really shouldn’t have said anything, Stiles decides. The not knowing is killing him. He can feel the questions aching to erupt like Mt. Saint Helen and it’s only a matter of time. 

Two hours outside of Beacon Hills, Stiles switches places with Scott at a grungy gas station. Derek goes inside to use the restroom and comes out with a bag of chips for Stiles and Twizzlers for Scott and nothing for himself. 

“Mom gave me some money for the trip back,” he says and flips his spoils over to their new owners.

“Hey, thanks man,” Scott says, smiling easily because the weight of the world or at least the fate of this family isn’t hanging onto his shoulders. Stiles wants to vomit. Maybe that’s the real Mt. Saint Helen here. Food vomit, word vomit, emotional vomit. God, he needs to stop thinking about vomit.

He places the chips on the seat next to him. No way he can eat that right now. Derek gives him a weird look but goes back to messing around on his phone.

The drive takes ten years off Stiles’ life.

  
He tries not to say anything. He truly and honestly tries to keep it in, he makes a concerted effort. He stares at himself in the bathroom mirror for five minutes the next morning after his shower and tells himself over and over that he won’t say anything to Derek. Or act weird. Or read too much into things. They have a good thing going here, the three of them. Stiles doesn’t need to fuck it up by asking questions that are just going to make Derek laugh at him. Or, heaven forbid, think Stiles has feelings for Derek.

Derek hands him a mug of coffee when he reaches the kitchen and Stiles bites his own lip to keep his god damn mouth shut.

“You okay, man?” Derek asks worriedly. So much for not acting weird. Or, a given behavior out of the ordinary for Stiles, since most of his behavior can be classified as “weird.”

“Yeah,” his voice comes out three pitches higher than normal and Stiles avoids eye contact by drinking his coffee in one gulp. It’s a little too hot for that and Stiles will wear the blisters for the rest of the day. 

“Well, I’m headed to class. Okay, bye,” he doesn’t wait for a response and books it to his first class a full fifteen minutes early. 

After a mental pep talk, Stiles tries to text in the group chat to give the appearance that everything is hunky dory in old Stilestopia. He asks Scott about his plans for the night, forgetting that Scott has to get back to his internship with Dr. Deaton. 

I’m free Derek responds a minute later, if you wanna do something.

Stiles spends five minutes of Stats panicking before he remembers that Derek is his best friend and he can watch a shitty documentary with him. He misses most of the lesson going back and forth and by the end of class, Stiles comes to the conclusion that this is going to drive him into an early grave if he doesn’t talk to Derek about it. 

Stiles, while an excellent connoisseur of secrets, is not made for letting something dangle in front of him. He’s a man of action. Sort of. He’s the man that forced Dr. Deaton to love Scott. He's the man who memorized his dad’s passwords for the police database and absolutely does not abuse that power. He doesn’t take the orders at work, he makes the drinks. Totally a man of action. 

He needs to hear Derek tell him that there’s nothing there and then things can go back to normal. They can film on Friday and they can still argue over who’s turn it is to clean the bathroom (it’s Derek’s by the way). 

He waits until they’re halfway through the documentary about the Panama Canal to bring it up, eating a nutritious dinner of microwave popcorn. Derek’s in full relaxation mode, he has his glasses on and he’s in his boxers—the ratty ones he wouldn’t let anyone else catch him in besides Scott and Stiles.

“So your mom told me to be careful with your heart because you might be in love with me,” he says around a mouthful of popcorn, “Is that true?”

“What?” Derek turns away from the TV to look at him, his face scrunched in confusion.

Stiles takes a deep breath and asks again, “Are you in love with me? Have you been in love with me this whole time?”

The line between Derek’s eyebrows grows bigger, “What are you talking about Stiles?”

“Answer the question Derek. Have I been hurting you this whole time and you did that martyr shit you do and let me walk all over your feelings?”

Derek turns back to the TV but Stiles knows he isn’t watching. He picks at the bowl of popcorn on his lap. Stiles scrutinizes him—his ears are red, that’s always the big tell, and his right foot starts jiggling. Stiles gives him a moment to respond, but he maintains his stare. He wants Derek to know he’s serious and that he wants a serious answer. 

Derek clears his throat twice before a word actually comes out, “Yes.”

Stiles’ jaw drops. He didn’t know that was a thing people actually did in real life. Life has a way of surprising you in many different veins. “Yes?”

Stiles sees Derek gather his courage. His ears don’t stop being red, but he swivels around and looks Stiles head on. It’s like he made a decision and has plans to carry it out, “I have feelings for you. I didn’t when we started, or I didn’t realize they were romantic feelings but once I put it together, it kinda made sense.”

“What things made sense? What are you talking about? What world do we live in where you have feelings for me?”

“Things like why it was so easy to pretend to be this bro obsessed with you,” Derek says, “Things like, after the second time we filmed—I had to do something normal. It was freaking me out how easy it was to fall into bed with you, even with cameras around and your email in my inbox with the final product of our sex tape. I was thinking about sex with you during office hours, while I was teaching, in the shower, I knew I needed to maintain our friendship and I didn’t know why that was so important before I realized I didn’t want it it to just be sex with you. I wanted to hold your hand. I wanted to wake up next to you.”

Stiles recognizes the look on Derek’s face—it’s a look he last saw when Derek was driving into him. Derek keeps talking and the world gets stranger and stranger, “I wanted, still want, these are all still wants, by the way, I want to hold your hand while we walk down the street. These aren’t family things and these aren’t friend things and you were never supposed to fall into that category. You were just always supposed to be my kid brother’s annoying friend.”

“You used to give me wet willies,” Stiles says, because the juxtaposition between this dude that Stiles hero worshiped for decades and swears is the definition of manliness having actual romantic feelings for him when he used to do literally the most disgusting things is giving Stiles highway whiplash. 

Derek nods like this is a perfectly normal response, “I taught you how to drive. God willing, one day I’ll teach you to shave.”

Stiles’ bark of laughter surprises both of them, “Fuck you. I shave.”

“Your pubes,” Derek retorts, because even with everything in ruins around them, he still has to needle Stiles.

“No I don’t!”

The leftover smile on Stiles’ face fades quickly when reality sets back in, “What are we supposed to do now, Derek? We can’t do the porn anymore.”

“Why not? It’s been fine so far.” Derek has the look of a man wanting as much as possible to stay the same. He looks like little Derek when his dad finally left and everyone knew about the shit his dad was doing to him and he just wanted to fly under the radar and not make it a big deal. Sure, let’s continue on even though I am in excruciating pain. It’s all good. How dare you inconvenience the status quo for my debilitating feelings.

He has to know that Stiles won’t put up with that. Derek’s feelings have always mattered to Stiles and that’s not about to change now.

“I can’t willingly hurt you, you’re my best friend and I can’t be the asshole that takes advantage of your feelings.”

“I don’t mind,” Derek says nonchalantly and a small piece of Stiles’ soul dies. After this dies down, Stiles is going to have a word with him about returning to therapy. Well, once they get some money in. He now remembers why Derek stopped going to therapy in the first place. 

“Then someone with sense has to mind for you, we’re not doing that. Absolutely not.”

Derek meets Stiles’ eyes again and his expressive eyebrows shift lower. He looks like he’s trying to see through Stiles and Stiles knows that if anyone in this world is able, it’ll be Derek. He seems to accept the decision to end the porn. “Stiles, are you sure you don’t have feelings for me?”

“I’m straight Derek,” he quietly reminds him, “Why does everyone think that I have feelings for you?”

“I don’t think you realize how you act with me,” Derek says, “There’s the enthusiastic sex, of course, but since we’ve started doing this, you treat me differently.”

“What? No I don’t.”

Derek takes a deep breath and expels it out angrily. He rubs his hands over his eyes aggressively and pointedly doesn’t say anything for several moments.

“I’m not going to argue with you about this,” is what he ends up saying, “If there’s no chance you feel anything for me, then I’m going to accept the next couple of dates and try to get over you.”

“I can’t imagine that will be hard, it’s just me.” Just Stiles with his too big mouth and his nose that looks like a ski slope and moles out the wazoo. Stiles doesn’t get the appeal, doesn’t get why someone like Derek would look twice at someone like Stiles. 

Derek’s eyes flash at him. He sounds totally defeated when he says, “I can’t—family rules on this, Stiles. I can’t take teasing on this. Being in love with you isn’t a joke, okay? Even if you want to be self-deprecating, I can’t handle that.” Stiles’ heart breaks a little at the way he says it.

Stiles tries to realistically imagine what their world is going to look like now. He’s going to have to tip toe around this for a while. He’s going to have to give Derek space, he can’t bother him with every thought that passes through his brain, he can’t pick at each guy Derek decides to date just to be a dick, he has to let him fly or whatever. The only thing he can’t imagine, literally cannot fathom, is Derek not being present in his life. Even when he went to college first and left Stiles and Scott, he made sure to talk to both of them on the phone regularly. That’s when the group chat started, so Derek would feel like he wasn’t missing anything. Derek would Skype Stiles separately and complain about his lectures while Stiles complained about AP Chemistry and report in on Melissa and Scott, behind the music. There’s not a time since he came into Stiles’ life that Derek hasn’t been present and he can’t handle losing someone that he loves like this. He lost his mom to death and that’s the only excuse he’ll allow one of his people to leave him. 

“Okay, but if you can’t handle teasing about this then I can’t handle you dropping off the face of the earth. I only have you and Scott. I can’t take it if you abandon me completely.”

The wall Derek put up over the course of this conversation crumbles along the edges. He pulls Stiles into a hug that feels way too nice and says into his ear, “I could never abandon you completely, you know that. But you have more people in your corner than you think. You have Erica, and Boyd, and Isaac.”

It’s not fair that even now when Derek is hurting like this, when Stiles is actively hurting Derek like this, he’s taking a moment to comfort Stiles. Stiles gets it in that moment. He is truly loved by someone. Someone—no, better than someone, Derek fucking Hale loves him enough to put his needs and comforts over Derek’s own. Stiles feels cherished and special and so fucking loved. 

“I’m going to go—be anywhere but here, work on my thesis, I guess.” Derek kisses him on the forehead. “I love you.”

Stiles can’t take the sadness in Derek’s eyes. He touches Derek’s bearded cheek and then steps away. “Love you too. You know.”

“I know.”


	18. Chapter 18

The rest of the day fucking sucks. The rest of the week fucking sucks, let’s be real. Things aren’t the same, no surprise, but it’s worse than Stiles imagined. 

Derek keeps his interactions balanced between not avoiding Stiles but also not being emotionally present as he usually is. Stiles gets it, he totally understands but it’s like being a drug addict and suddenly you’re cut off. That seems intense, Stiles thinks, but he can’t come up with another simile that makes more sense.

He’s bombarded by guilt all day and night, it’s getting harder to sleep at night and to make it worse, his bank account still has royalties coming in so every time he checks his account, which is often, that guilt bubbling in his stomach increases. Because that’s Derek’s blood money. He can’t even enjoy a luxurious snack, he has to stick to Scott’s gross expired food.

Stiles quietly pays the backed up gas, water, and electricity bills. He can at least take care of those for the family since he’s ruined it so thoroughly. 

Scott figures out something happened pretty quickly for someone who spends very little time at their apartment and increasingly more time pretending he’s not shacking up with Kira. It’s been maybe half a day since the confrontation and Stiles hasn’t come down from the clouds—he still feels like this whole thing has been a strange dream and no amount of googling will be able to help him interpret it. 

“Dude,” Scott says, barging into the little bedroom where Stiles has made himself a cocoon of self loathing until he has to go to work in an hour, “this doesn’t look good. Are you okay?”

“Let me ask you this, Scott. What’s it like being best friends with the worst person in town?”

“I’m not best friends with Jackson, we left him behind, remember?”

Stiles smiles despite himself, “I meant me, dipshit.”

“I know what you were implying and I don’t agree. You’re the best dude in the world.”

“Can’t be,” Stiles throws himself face first into the blanket. He can’t look at Scott for this conversation. “I ruined everything.”

Scott sits on the side of the bed and rubs a soothing hand down Stiles’ flank. He’s going to be a great dad one day, Stiles thinks out of the blue. “I very much doubt you ruined everything. Now what are you talking about?”

“Remember when all this started and you and I went to taco night and we had an awkward talk about our feelings and you said you were just checking on me?”

Scott looks more confused than ever. “Yeah,” He confirms.

“Maybe you should go check on Derek, that’s probably all I should say.”

“You can’t tell me more than that after you’re going on about destroying everything?”

“No.”

“Is everyone safe, no one’s in danger are they?”

“No. No physical danger.”

“Okay.”

“It’s not my secret to tell, Scott. Go check on Derek, he probably needs you.”

“Not helping me feel better, dude.”

Stiles concedes the point, “Go check on Derek and if you still want to be friends with me, I’ll be here. In my blanket burrito. Alone.”

  
Scott doesn’t say anything about his discussion with Derek but he does make a point to call him his best friend the next time they see each other in person, so Stiles knows they’re still cool.

True to his word, Derek starts dating in a way that neither Scott nor Stiles have ever seen him do. It’s bonkers—it’s almost like word went out around the grad school kids because suddenly they’re hanging around the outside of the apartment building like they’re hoping to casually run into Derek there.

Stiles assumes it’s worse at his office hours. Maybe the university gym worst of all because there’s more access and then Derek’s in those ripped tanks and shorts that show off his muscular legs. 

The little spare time he used to spend filming with Stiles or watching history documentaries he nows spends at movies he doesn’t care about or freeloading dinner with a dude he doesn’t care about.

There are a few women thrown in as well and Stiles doesn’t mention his surprise to anyone. He keeps it in where it belongs. He doesn’t have a horse in this race, this is absolutely 110% not his business at all.

“But he’s out at all hours, dad,” Stiles says during their weekly chat on his way home from work, “just floozying around town with anybody that asks!”

His father is not impressed with Stiles. “Is he safe? Is he in a committed relationship with someone and he’s breaking his promise to them?”

Stiles hangs his head in shame, even though his dad can’t see him through the phone. “Well, no,” he admits. 

“And this is your business how?”

“It’s 110% not my business,” Stiles says reminding himself that he just had this discussion with himself and how dare he already forget the conclusion they reached?

“Then let him live, kid,” his dad says softly and Stiles wonders briefly if Melissa said something about her theory to him. Then again, she might not have needed to say anything. His dad is the sheriff for a reason—it’s impossible to get anything past him. He probably picked up on this from two meals with Stiles and Derek. Maybe Stiles is just the dumbest person alive for not seeing it, seeing how he was hurting him. 

“You’re right,” he admits. “I just—”

“What?”

“I hate it,” he hears himself say, it has the flavor of a confession, “I miss him. I’m kinda lonely?”

“Scott not around for you to bug?”

“He’s at Kira’s every second he’s not at Deaton’s.”

“I know you love Derek, kiddo. Maybe you should find some other friends, though.”

Stiles hates that he’s right. He ends the conversation after asking about his dad’s diet and then walks up the stairs to their apartment. There are two early twenties looking dudes reading books at different benches who both look up the second they hear Stiles approach. Once it’s clear that it’s Stiles and not Derek, both of them stop smiling and look down again in tandem. It’s kinda eerie how in sync it is. 

They better not disturb Greenberg, in the apartment below, Stiles thinks. He doesn’t need Greenberg on their case again. He’s convinced that Greenberg tattles to Finstock for a reduced rent or something because he’s the nosiest motherfucker. 

Stiles doesn’t have the heart to tell the two dudes that Derek’s out at a study session for his students and won’t be back until late. He does at least tell Scott and Stiles where he’ll be. Mostly because so many of those documentaries they watch are about murder and the best thing you can do is tell people where you are going to be and with whom. 

So that’s how Stiles can follow along with his date with Steve, to an early movie on Saturday the next day, followed by dinner with Cliff. He’s double booking! Like this is fucking ridiculous. How many dates was he turning down per day to suddenly be this busy with so many people all the time? Has it just been a free for all of inappropriate come ons? Stiles observed this phenomenon from afar several times, but he hasn’t been around him 24/7. Stiles likes to laugh at how hard Derek has it with people flocking to him for his attention, but damn. It must actually get kinda annoying.

Theresa takes him to the park for a picnic on Sunday then he has mimosas with Terrence. According to his very busy schedule, he carves out some time Sunday to grade a couple things and answer questions, but manages to meet with Freddie to go to a late viewing of his aunt’s art auction house. 

Stiles waits for him on the couch, not that he’s waiting for him. He’s just doing some homework in front of the TV because it’s his week for the couch and he doesn’t want to get woken up by the slam of the door and the shower when Derek gets home. He’d never be able to go back to sleep. 

Derek cruises in late. Stiles hears the door open and swivels around to look at him.

“You’re up late,” Derek says, taking his coat off and throwing it on the counter.

“You’re out late,” Stiles says back, “have fun?”

“I guess. The art was terrible but I didn’t know how to politely say that, so I had to pretend like I was seeing the genius of his aunt’s finger paints.”

“Brutal.”

“Mark him off the list,” Derek gives him a wry smile and then makes his way to the bathroom.

“Because of his aunt’s art?”

“No, because he likes his aunt’s art. I can’t respect that.”

“Fair,” Stiles says and then looks back down at his laptop to get back to doing his homework.

“Night, Stiles.”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, peeking up to see Derek throw his shirt off on his way into the bathroom. He hears the shower turn on and definitely doesn’t imagine Derek naked in there.

He would be much more okay with this if Derek wasn’t so clearly okay with it all. Little comments like ‘mark him off the list’ that reference without outright re-stating his feelings for Stiles just serve to make Stiles feel worse about the whole thing. Because clearly Stiles is the only one making this weird. Derek is making good on his promise, he’s not avoiding him. He’s still letting Stiles be a part of his life. He’s not excluding Stiles like Stiles has done to past girlfriends when he needs to get over them. 

This goes on for two weeks and Stiles lives in a strange place where he doesn’t get to feel weird about Derek dating, but feels weird about Derek dating and also guilty and also a feeling he can’t, or won’t, name that feels like a bulldozer sitting on his chest and every once in a while it wakes up and rumbles. 

Stiles throws himself into his homework, getting ahead in every class. He volunteers for extra shifts at the library, which is unlike him. He borrows Isaac’s switch again by saying it’s for Scott, and then spends a solid twelve hour block playing Zelda. He calls his dad on a Tuesday for a quick question and then holds him hostage on the phone for fifteen minutes until an actual armed robbery forces his dad off the phone. 

After all his experience editing the porn, his final project in his film editing course is almost too easy. He makes Erica watch it, worried he’s missed something crucial and that he’s over simplifying it. 

“I hate how fucking good this is,” she comments and then stays over at their apartment to play MarioKart with Stiles for hours on the yet to be returned Switch. 

And still Derek continues to date. He never brings them up to the apartment and he never takes them to places that Scott and Stiles frequent. Stiles hasn’t seen Derek in his Starbucks at all. He does stay out until all hours of the night, so who knows what he’s doing with all these dates. 

Stiles doesn’t let himself think about Derek sleeping with these dudes. He doesn’t think about if Derek’s sucking their dicks as good as he sucks Stiles’. And he doesn’t wonder if Derek’s making that face he does when Stiles makes a noise that Derek likes. Yeah, he’s definitely not thinking about those things. And he doesn’t wish Derek could be watching this documentary with Stiles because Stiles knows that Derek would argue against the documentarians and Stiles would have to take the other side just for the sake of arguing with him. Instead, he’s watching a boring documentary and he actually agrees with it and he can’t even keep his attention on it without his mind wandering to all these things he’s not thinking about.

He turns the TV off. Once the sound disappears, Stiles hears something coming from outside the door. Feeling brave, he walks to the door and tries to listen through it. He can’t place the sounds, but it’s freaking him out. Grabbing a frying pan that they only use for bacon, Stiles swings the door open forcefully and Derek and a strange dude stumble backwards, Derek falling on his butt and breaking the other man’s fall. 

“Oh,” Stiles says stupidly, the pan raised high above his head. It’s very clear what’s going on here. Derek finally brought a guy back. Those sounds he heard were their tongue sounds. Gross. Derek was kissing this dude outside their house. This Joe Dirt looking motherfucker had his hands and lips all over Derek, his mouth is reddened and Stiles feels something break inside him and he has no idea what it is. His sanity? He can’t find the words to say, so he goldfishes.

“Um, hi Stiles,” Derek says, scrambling to his feet. “This is Ja—”

“I don’t care,” Stiles says. He puts the pan down, feeling disconnected from his hands and mouth. It doesn’t feel like him doing these things. He doesn’t wait for a reply, he walks into the little bedroom. He throws his shoes off and lands facedown on the bed. It smells like Scott. He stays there until sleep claims him what feels like hours later. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiles continues to be a dumb ass. It's a trend. 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone commenting and leaving kudos - I am living for the emails from AO3 telling me about your comments.
> 
> Also, I added another chapter for epilogue fun. Hope no one minds.


	19. Chapter 19

“What’s wrong with you? I mean, besides the obvious,” Erica asks when she seems to realize that Stiles isn’t going to be forthcoming. It’s been a long shift tonight, as the students gear up for finals, they need their lattes to fuel their study sessions. He’s made fifteen peppermint mochas and he doesn’t want to smell “pumpkin” ever again. After they cleaned up, Erica grabbed him by the hood of his sweatshirt and pulled him to her dorm. 

Stiles sighs heavily. She’s going to get this out of him one way or another. He can either give in gracefully now, or be humiliated further when she drags this out and plays with her food. 

“I’m having a crises,” he admits. 

“That much is obvious. Go on,” she snaps.

He can’t hold the eye roll back, but Erica is used to it. He mostly communicates with her in eye rolls. It’s basically a love letter at this point. 

“So Derek and I had a big, well not fight but—confrontation—the other day and he told me he has feelings for me, which I don’t return. And now he’s dating and I caught him at the end of his latest date, I don’t know. I don’t think this guy is good for him. How can he just jump right into something when he’s still in love with me? He shouldn’t be with this guy.”

“Oh brother,” Erica says and now she’s rolling her eyes and Stiles tries very hard not to be offended. 

“Hey, that’s mean.”

“So you’re jealous that Derek is dating someone other than you when you’re the one that rejected him?”

“What? No, of course not. I’m just trying to look out for my bro. This guy is clearly only into Derek for his looks. And he’s got so much more to offer.”

Erica clacks a fingernail against her face, unimpressed. “Dude, you’re an idiot. That man is in love with you.”

“So he says,” Stiles responds, because the doubt comes back every night. He’ll have revelation that, yeah, actually Derek does love him and they live in a post-conversation world where Derek readily admitted to it and actively wanted Stiles to return those feelings. But then Stiles remembers what he looks like versus what Derek looks like and how smart and perfect Derek is and how imperfect and awkward and all-around weird Stiles is and his mind just kinda goes, ‘does he really love you though? Look at all these other dudes he’s dating now that are better than you in every conceivable way.’

“No, really. Why am I even bothering to have this conversation? He loves you, he literally tells you this and you told him you don’t feel that way,” she shoots him a blazing look, “when you clearly feel the same way, and now you’re mad that he’s going out with other people?”

“I’m not sure he’s actually in love with me. Maybe he just thinks he is because I’m safe, you know?”  
Erica laughs and it sounds like a chainsaw, “I’ve seen your sex tape. You guys don’t fuck, you make love.”  
“You watched it?!” Stiles says incredulously.   
“You thought I wouldn’t? I had to ignore your dick, which was very difficult so you know.”  
“Because it’s so massive, I get it.” Stiles puffs his chest out, checking for her reaction. He’s pleased to see her disdainful look. Erica chooses very maturely to ignore him. That’s usually for the best.

“And the way you guys look at each other,” she kisses her fingers like an Italian chef, “Damn.”

“We don’t look at each other weird.”

“No, you look at each other like you’re in love. Because you are,” she says this simply, like she’s explaining something to a child. 

“I’m not in love with him, he’s in love with me,” Stiles insists.

“Don’t correct me when I’ve already said it right the first time,” Erica says, slapping his arm as a mild reprimand. 

“Erica, don’t tell me my own feelings. Do you have any idea how condescending that is?”

“Fine, you tell me what this is then?” She pulls up the porn. They watch it very awkwardly. He’s so glad her little iPhone speakers won’t carry into the neighboring dorms. He doesn’t want to have to walk of shame out of here when they aren’t even doing anything sketchy. And he can’t blame it on porn because it’s, well, it’s his own moans? That’s hard to sweep under the rug. 

Erica points at Derek’s post-O face, when he’s just kind of looking at Stiles softly. Stiles didn’t really think much of it at the time, because he sees that looks occasionally on Derek and it’s never been a big deal before. “That’s the face of a man in love.” 

She pauses it and then points at Stiles’ face on screen, “And that’s also the look of a man in love.” He’s sure he’s never in his life looked that way before. If this wasn’t caught on camera and brought to his attention, he would swear on the bible that he’s never had that exact expression on his face. And he edited this video! By this point in his porn editing career, he’s gotten the formula down and could do it pretty quickly so no wonder he didn’t pay attention to the look on his face. He was mostly cutting out extra time and finding the best angles of each shot. Is that face really what Erica claims it is?

“My feelings haven’t changed after all this, though. I think I would have noticed if I fell in love with him, you know? Like, he’s the most important person in the world to me, tied with my dad and Scott. And, sure, there are things that I can only talk to him about, things that only he gets. So, in a way he’s the closest person in my life,” he tells her and then a funny looking jawline jumps into his brain and he quickly follow up with, “Don’t ever tell Scott I said that, he will actually cry. Like, it’s not pretty. You think it’s going to be funny to see him cry, and then it’s just really pathetic and sad in reality, so learn from my mistakes.”

“Stiles,” she pets his hair and looks him deeply in the eyes, “maybe you didn’t notice falling in love with him because you were already in love before all this started.”

Stiles gapes. It can’t be that simple. Things in life are never that simple. Things in life are like the early death of your mother and dealing with ADHD and a workaholic father. Things in life are dealing with your best friend’s emotional abuse and trying to find ways to send him to therapy. Things in life are not you’re in love with your best friend’s older brother and he’s also in love with you and there’s no conflict there. That doesn’t happen in Stiles’ experience. Love comes part and parcel with pain. And loving Derek doesn’t hurt. Loving Derek is healing and it cures hurt. This doesn’t make sense in Stiles’ brain. 

Erica gives Stiles a moment to finish reeling from her words and she speaks more gently than Stiles has ever heard from her. Erica isn’t by nature a soft person, but she must realize she needs to tread lightly here because she’s upending Stiles’ entire life. 

“I remember thinking it was funny that you insisted no one else could be in the porn. You had flimsy excuses, but I rolled with it. Something about Derek’s trust issues, but then later you told me about Cat Guy that he apparently was hooking up with casually, so like that’s not really true, is it? You just didn’t want to see him with anyone else.”

She takes his hand and rubs her thumb soothingly across his hand. It feels nice with her girl hands. They’re so soft and the light rake of her nails is comforting even if it comes with a side of danger. Stiles squeezes her hand back.   
“And you think I missed that display at the Halloween party? You guys drunkenly danced for hours while grinding on each other and then made out in front of everyone. I can’t get you to do one task at work for longer than twenty minutes, Isaac and I have a rotation to make you do things. That’s why you’re always making drinks—you complete the task and something totally new starts up. You think you could dance with one person literally for hours if you weren’t desperately in love with them? You got head from Brandy last year and were texting me the whole time...” 

“That was to make Cat Guy jealous,” Stiles says and it sounds weak even to his own ears. He hates that Erica has like bullet points that support her argument and he has um no?

“Cat Guy left like seconds after you got on the dance floor. Why did you need the rest of the night? Imagine Derek marrying this new guy you saw him with. You know you’ll be at the wedding—really imagine it. How are you going to feel about it? You’re going to sit there and be happy for him? You’re going to be a groomsmen, lets be real. You’re going to sit there and toast to his happiness with another guy and be okay with that? Bullshit.”

“I just want him to be happy,” Stiles says, positively not imaging the very scenario Erica brings up. That sounds like his nightmare. Bring another person in to their family? 

“And he wants to be happy with you. Has it ever felt as good kissing someone else?”

Stiles already considered this months ago, so he says right away, “No, but I mean, I haven’t kissed a lot of people.”

Erica nods like she was expecting that answer and then asks, “Has sex ever been as good as it is with Derek?”

Stiles shakes his head, “He’s older and he has more experience than the other people I’ve been with, it’s not the same.”

Erica squeezes his hand again. “Stiles you aren’t making sense, do you hear yourself? At first he has these trust issues and never hooks up with anyone and now the sex is better because he’s so experienced? Those are conflicting statements.”

“Geez, and I thought talking to my cop dad was bad.”

She smiles at the compliment and then continues on her winning streak, “Have you ever kissed anyone and had it feel as good as it does when Derek kisses you?”

“I haven’t kissed anyone but Derek in like months, dude.”

“Then kiss me,” Erica says and Stiles about falls off the bed. That’s not where he thought this conversation was going.   
He flails a moment before saying, “I’m not attracted to you, plus you have Boyd.”

“Boyd won’t care, I’ll call him and tell him it’s for true love.”

Stiles can’t think of a reason fast enough. She texts Boyd and he responds back quickly. She shows proof that it’s okay for them to kiss the once and then suddenly he has a handful of blond hair in his hands and sticky lips on his. She smells like perfume and it’s lovely but it’s wrong somehow. It’s a pretty solid kiss, altogether, but it’s not Derek.  
They break apart after thirty seconds, and Erica looks deeply at him from much closer than she usually stands. Stiles supposes personal bubbles are probably a thing of the past. “See now if you didn’t have Derek and I didn’t have Boyd, that would have been like a top five kiss, okay? You’re actually a really good kisser. What about me? Better than Derek?”

“No,” he’s starting to kind of get it. Because he’s always blown away when Derek kisses him. He thought it was just because his hero was deigning to kiss him, even if it didn’t mean anything, but no, he just really likes kissing Derek.

“If you were straight it would not feel as good kissing Derek. Ask Scott to imagine what it would be like kissing another dude.”

Stiles’ brain hasn’t come back online yet. “What do I do? How do I—how can I be sure I—“

Erica smiles at him and she looks like some kind of Catholic saint, like he’s her son or something, which makes the fact that he can still taste her tongue feel even weirder. 

“Go talk to him,” she nudges him with her elbow. 

“What if he doesn’t want to talk to me? What if he hates me and like I ruin everything and this new guy is actually like perfect for him and—“

“Stiles, go talk to him. You think he didn’t have all this run through his mind when he told you he loved you? And that didn’t end well for him. You at least know how he feels.”

“What if we screw everything up and ruin the family?”

“You already went through something that could have ruined everything and you’re arguably fine. Go talk to him.”  
Stiles stands up and rubs his palms on his jeans. They’re sweating already. “Okay, I… yeah, yeah I’m going to go talk to him. Thanks, Erica.”

“I’d say anytime, but please never have this crises again. Lock him down.”

“I’ll try.”


	20. Chapter 20

The walk back to the apartment has never felt longer or shorter. Stiles runs round and round mentally about the conversation he’s about to have with Derek, psyching himself up. He can’t go on without talking about this now that he’s realized his feelings. Stiles, as always, is a man of action and once he sets his mind on something, he has to see it through. 

When he walks through the door, he sees Scott taking a picture of Derek who looks dressed for a date. Shit. 

“There dude,” Scott says, handing the phone over, “now you can see really see what you look like.” 

Yeah, they have no mirror in the apartment besides the tiny one above the sink, but it’s too cramped in there to back up enough to truly see what you look like. This is not the first time Scott has had to take pictures of someone to show them what they look like. 

Stiles usually takes pictures to show Scott how dumb he looks, so this is a reversal. 

“You look good, man,” Scott is saying to Derek and, yeah, Stiles couldn’t agree more. This is the first time since he’s realized he’s like gay in love with Derek that’s recognized how fucking hot he his. Stiles wants to put his dick all over him. 

They clearly didn’t notice him walk in. Stiles observes the scene for a moment before he decides this impending conversation needs to happen before Derek leaves the apartment looking like a whole ass meal. 

“Hey Scott, can I talk to Derek alone for a minute?” 

Stiles watches the movies playing out over their faces. Derek’s face says ‘Final Destination’ and Scott’s face says he wants to be anywhere but here. 

“Sure, I can go over to Kira’s I guess. Spend the night there.” Stiles laughs inwardly at his lack of subtlety. Classic Scott, he missed that gene. 

“No one’s asking you to spend the night,” Stiles says, “this won’t take that long.” 

Scott shakes his head, looking between Stiles and Derek and nope-ing completely out of the situation, “Nah, I think I’ll spend the night. Let me just grab some stuff.” 

“Don’t act like you don’t have a spare toothbrush there already, bro,” Stiles says because come on, for a family that apparently has no secrets from each other, they apparently had secrets from each other. Stiles, in his new found honesty, wants to demolish the last of those secrets. They all fucking know he’s been staying with Kira. That he’s boning Kira. That he’s ass over tits in love with Kira. 

“Kyle’s coming over in like thirty minutes, Stiles,” Derek says while checking the picture again, trying to keep his phone as a barrier between them, “what’s this about?” 

Scott grabs his backpack, presumably already ready for a night at Kira’s and walks out the door, without so much as a ‘see ya.’ Stiles tries not to image the backpack to be Scott’s version of an end-of-Earther’s go bag. 

Stiles reaches internally to gather his courage. He pulls every last iota up from his toe nails to the tips of his hair, draws a deep breath to combat the butterflies in his stomach and says, “Um remember how you’re in love with me and I told you I wasn’t in love with you and that I’m straight?” 

This makes Derek look up, “Vividly.” 

Barely hearing the response over the sound of his heart pounding, Stiles manages to croak the rest out, “So I might not be either of those things? It’s been a really confusing week, tbh.” 

He watches the realization wash over Derek’s face when the words sink in. His phone slowly sinks down and he places it in his pocket without locking it. For the first time since Stiles walked in the door, Derek turns to look at him directly. 

“What?” 

“I’m not straight, I guess?” he starts with the simplest part first. What a statement to say his sexuality over the last twenty years has been the simplest part to deal with. 

“I mean, I’m definitely into girls, so that’s all true,” he continues when Derek doesn’t say anything back, “but it turns out that the feelings I have for you sorta make it obvious that I’m into boys too once you label them correctly as ‘in love’ and not ‘hero worship’ like I’ve been doing since I met you.” 

“So, you what,” Derek says, and Stiles can’t read his tone, “you’re into me now?” 

Stiles gulps. “Um I think I’ve been into you for a very long time.” 

Derek seems to not be able to say anything else. Stiles can’t handle the silence and keeps talking, “and I mean, it’s more than being into you. I’m uh,” he takes a deep breath, “I’m in love with you, Derek.” 

Derek’s eyes go glassy and he tilts his head. 

“I get it if you don’t feel that way anymore or whatever, I just had to tell you. I owe you that honesty, so if you like this Kyle guy and want to—“ Derek cuts off his rambling by crossing the floor and pressing his mouth to Stiles’ mouth. 

He missed this, he missed the sensation of Derek’s lips on his and his tongue licking against his lips. It’s more than the physical sensations, it’s the comfort of Derek’s smell in his nostrils, and the taste of their shared toothpaste. It’s Derek’s personhood under him, all the little things that make Derek a unique human, his fingerprint on the universe. Stiles loves all of it. 

He loses himself in the kiss or more like part of himself breaks off and tangles with parts of Derek until there’s a unique piece that makes up them that they can share. 

Slowly, the kiss winds down until Derek’s resting his forehead against Stiles’ and he tries not to flinch at the thought of their last conversation ending with Derek kissing his forehead while his heart bleeds out everywhere. 

“I’m sorry it took me so long to figure it out,” he whispers, “I guess I can be kind of dumb, huh?” 

Derek shakes his head, but not in disagreement more like in astonishment. “You’re so annoying, but when you walk in a room my mood instantly lifts. Seeing you smile makes me feel better. Knowing you’re happy and safe makes me feel relieved. It’s like I can’t be happy unless you are. I want only good things to happen to you, but when bad things happen, I want to be the one to comfort you and make you feel better. I want your opinions on things. I want you input on my thesis because I think you’re brilliant and your opinion matters to me, and you haven’t even taken an English class since you’ve been in college.” 

Stiles feels his eyes water and he’s definitely not crying because no matter how much Derek loves him, he will roast the shit out of him for forever if he cries. Derek’s smiling back, eyes just as glassy so maybe Stiles is safe. He’s always safe with Derek. “Those are all the things I wanted to say to you last time we talked about this.”

“I feel all those things too,” Stiles tells him honestly, “I want you to touch me like all the time? Is that normal? I want to sit next to you on the couch and have our sides press together, or I want my feet in your lap, or your arm around my shoulders.” 

Stiles has to ask, even if it breaks the mood, because this is truly the only thing holding them back. This is at the core of what took him so long to figure it out. “What if we break up, Derek?” 

Derek rubs his hand up and down Stiles’ arm soothingly and it feels safe and soft and comforting as fuck. Stiles likes that Derek doesn’t immediately answer, it looks like he takes his time truly considering Stiles’ question. Like it’s important to him too. “Then we deal with that. We respect each other and stay friends, that’s not an option.” 

“What if this messes up things with our family,” Stiles asks, like Derek somehow magically has all the answers. 

Derek smirks and then snorts a small laugh, “You said my mom literally told you not to break my heart. Guess what the next thing you did was?” 

“Okay, harsh. I was going through something.” 

“Yeah, denial,” Derek bites at Stiles’ cheek and he giggles. It turns into a quick peck and Stiles pulls away before it turns into something more. 

“True, but ouch.” 

They stand close for several moments in silence. Stiles has never been one for meditating, too hyperactive to ever sit still for long, but he imagines the calm safety of Derek’s arms is like the goal of meditation and if someone had explained it that way the first four times he tried to learn, maybe he could be a yogi by now. 

Stiles runs his hands up and down Derek’s back, enjoying the feel of his muscles under his fingers. He sighs deeply, “How is this going to effect Scott, like are we going to hurt his feelings and make him feel left out?” 

“Scott has been avoiding us to spend time with Kira for months, and neither one of us purposefully leaves him out. He’s a big boy and he’ll be fine,” Derek answers. Stiles knows that, he knows Scott well enough and he knows that he’s an integral part of the family. Stiles didn’t let Scott leave him when he got popular in high school, or when he started dating Allison and forgot everyone else existed. There’s no way Stiles is getting rid of him now, not after all this. Scott’s stuck with him. 

Stiles spends another couple minutes in his head, luxuriating in the feel of Derek. If only he knew when they started sleeping together for money that they would end up like this—honestly and genuinely in love with each other. Stiles, very comfortable now with his feelings, still can’t believe they’re here. “We can’t do porn anymore. I draw the line there. I don’t want my relationship seen like that. I don’t want you seen that way anymore.” 

“So it was okay when we were just boning with no feelings but now that you have feelings it’s too much,” Derek teases. 

“Um, yeah?” Stiles knows he makes no sense and he doesn’t have a leg to stand on, but something about this feels right, that this is only meant for them now. He doesn’t want to profit off of Derek’s body, even if that’s how it started. Stiles knew men everywhere would pay to see that body on display, but now that Stiles owns a timeshare there, the rules look different. 

“You really love me, huh?” Derek asks quietly and Stiles’ heart melts. He can’t believe anymore that he wasted all this time. That he squandered the most beautiful heart that’s ever existed. He can give this to Derek, he can answer this question everyday for the rest of their lives. He loves Derek, he’s not ashamed and he wants him to know. All the time, every minute of every day, that Stiles Stilinski loves Derek Hale and always has and always will.

It doesn’t feel like much of a confession to tell him now, “I hero worshiped you for so long and got it confused with that was truly going on. You weren’t just the cool older brother that I wanted to be, you were the cool, hot, older brother that I wanted to fuck and that part never sunk in. I am very much in love with you.” 

“So we’re together now?” Derek asks, letting Stiles’ admittance roll off him. Stiles will have to remember to tell him later, again, how much he loves him. He’ll write sonnets. Derek loves a fucking sonnet. He’ll get that entire ass with a steaming sonnet. 

“Yeah, you’re with me now so please tell Kyle to fuck off. I can’t stand him.” 

Derek barks a laugh and Stiles definitely doesn’t find it amusing, he was very serious thank you very much. 

“I already texted him to cancel.”

“When?” Stiles hadn’t seen him touch his phone since they started talking. 

“Before you walked in. I was humoring Scott but I didn’t want to go out with this guy. My heart isn’t in it.”

“Because your heart is mine?” Stiles asks, figuring this might be the only time he has a chance to be this soppy before even he gets sick of himself.

“Yeah, exactly that.” 

“Hey, here’s an idea,” Derek says into Stiles’ ear, raising goose bumps on his skin, “Fuck me.” 

“What?” 

“I want you to fuck me. We always talked about the porn like I was this dominating figure and I had to be the one topping, but I love you and I want you to fuck me.” Did he die and go to heaven? Now that he thinks about it he’s likened Derek to angel maybe one too many times. This could definitely be heaven. Derek Hale, ass and thighs of legend, begging Stiles to top him? Derek must misunderstand the emotional and sexual journey Stiles is on, because he has the audacity to say, “Is that too much?” 

Stiles finds his voice in a book long unopened, “No, no absolutely I can fuck you. I would love to fuck you, actually. I never thought you would want me to fuck you, so yeah that’s that…. that’s not a problem, let’s do that.” 

Luckily Derek spares them both and once he hears Stiles’ agreement, he cuts off his rambling with another kiss. This one is more sensual. It’s not the passionate relief of realizing their feelings are reciprocated, it’s the kindling that begins the bonfire. 

Stiles surrenders to the kiss and loses track of his arms and legs, knowing only pleasure. He doesn’t recognize his own hands until he sees them pulling off Derek’s shirt, because yeah, that’s intrinsic to Stiles. He wants to see Derek naked, like always. That’s never changed. 

Derek loses the shirt quickly and then grabs Stiles by his henley and uses it to drag him across the room to the big bedroom. They’ve christened this room many times, but never quite like this. Derek leaves Stiles lingering in the doorway while he slowly extracts himself from his pants. Having never been to a strip joint, Stiles imagines that this must be what being on the receiving end of a strip tease feels like. He can get behind this feeling.

Once he’s naked, Derek props himself up on the bed and his eyes blaze into Stiles’ and he just—he can’t move. Derek’s so beautiful and so lovely and Stiles can’t pick just one favorite thing about him because everything is unique and perfect and he’s immobilized.

“Are you going to join me or just watch?” Derek asks and Stiles hears himself gasp as Derek’s hand winds down to his cock. He gives himself a few strokes and Stiles has a less fun mini-stroke and one more strike and he’s out so he needs to focus, like now. 

“I’ll watch another time,” Stiles promises, finding the strength to approach the bed. 

“Then come touch me.”

Stiles doesn’t push his luck, his feet unlock from the floor and he rushes to the bed. “I’m very clothed, aren’t I?”  
“Yeah, fix that immediately,” Derek tugs the henley over Stiles’ head and now that he sees it on the floor, Stiles is pretty sure it used to belong to Derek once upon a time. 

His pants follow quickly. It’s hard to concentrate on getting them down his thighs when Derek’s started kissing his neck, the beard burning his neck deliciously. Finally, he throws his briefs down as well and they’re blessedly skin to skin. There’s a magical spark that zaps between them where their skin touches—no matter if it’s holding hands or a forehead kiss. Stiles almost drowns in the sensation of so much of their skin meeting.

Stiles finds himself atop Derek, caging him in and he feels powerful and loved and trusted to be in this position. Derek’s green eyes blink lazily up at him, their pupils so dilated that his eyes look black. 

“God, I love your dick,” Derek says, finding said dick with a squeeze of his hand, “It’s your best feature, honestly. So sad that your clothes cover it all the time. Want to see it and touch it all the time.”

“That can definitely be arranged,” Stiles manages to breathe out, used to his mouth working independently of his brain half the time. We’ve discussed the lack of filter, yes?

“Get your hands on me, Stiles,” Derek says, twisting around to find the lube in the nightstand. It’s a brand new bottle and Stiles has a recovered memory of buying a new bottle, anticipating more porn. The cap is still sealed and Stiles is cheered because that means that Derek didn’t use this lube with anyone else. 

He fumbles with the cap, throwing the seal somewhere on the floor and then makes himself comfortable in the cradle of Derek’s hips. It’s a nice place to be. If he has a timeshare in Derek’s body, then Derek’s hips are definitely the hot tub or something, the real jewel in the crown.

“Please,” Derek says, spreading his legs wider and it’s the hottest thing Stiles has ever seen. At least it is until he watches his finger enter Derek and then has to take a moment to not come immediately. “Feels so good, love your fingers in me.”

“They loving being in you,” Stiles says, and then more seriously, “you’re so tight, Derek. You feel so good. I can’t believe you’re going to let me in there.”

“Yes, yes, more please.”

Stiles adds another finger and, knowing how amazing the prostate can feel, moves his fingers around looking for Derek’s. He hits it pretty quickly and Derek’s eyes widen to anime size in surprised pleasure. When Derek feels like he can take more, Stiles adds a third finger. 

“Now,” Derek pleads, “c’mon I’m ready, Stiles, baby, please fuck me.”

Stiles has to hold the base of his cock to himself from spewing. “Alright alright,” he teases, “what a bossy bottom.”

“You fucking love it,” Derek says and he’s not wrong.

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing. There’s absolutely nothing hotter than the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen in my entire life begging me to give him my cock. I could honestly die happily right now.”

“Well at least wait until you get in me,” Derek says pointedly. 

“Good point, my beautiful Helen,” Stiles says and starts to push his dick into Derek. They both gasp and Stiles reaches out to kiss Derek while they wait for him to get used to the feeling.

“Okay, a little more,” Derek pushes his hips down towards Stiles and he slips in another inch. Stiles isn’t convinced he hasn’t passed away and gone to heaven. If so, he never wants to wake up. 

They repeat the process until Stiles is all the way in. He slowly, ever so slowly, pulls out and rocks back in. “Dude,” Stiles says reverently, “I’m totally fucking you right now.”

“I know,” Derek says and to his credit, he’s not making fun of Stiles. It’s mostly like he can’t believe it either. “Now can you fuck me a little harder? I’m not made of glass.”

“Always complaining, never any positive feedback,” Stiles mumbles into Derek’s neck as he bites little loves bites into his skin.

“So far A plus, but unless you start speeding up, you’re grade is dropping.”

“Oh Professor Hale,” Stiles breathes heavily now as he thrusts harder, “what will the other students say?”

“This is a closed exam,” Derek says with a straight face until he can’t hold it and he starts laughing. Stiles laughs too and loses his rhythm a bit, but Derek takes the opportunity to push him over onto his back. “You were taking too long.”

“I love a man who takes what he wants,” Stiles says, bringing his fingers up to stroke Derek’s nipples. Derek rides him hard, his teeth biting down on his lower lip and Stiles groans. He’s starting to get close and he hopes to God that Derek is too because he’s not sure how much longer he can last. He’s already living in a miracle.

He reaches for Derek’s cock, time to help things along a little. “I’m getting so close,” Stiles tells him and Derek looks proud under the lust and love. “Are you going to come for me?”

Stiles tugs Derek’s cock the way he knows he likes and Stiles sees the beginnings of Derek’s O face. Stiles comes the second he recognizes it, a huge blast of pleasure more intense than usual, even with Derek. Derek follows right after, his come leaking over Stiles’ hand. He barely registers the come when Derek falls face forward onto Stiles’ chest, exhausted. Stiles supposes he did do most of the work towards the end. It’s not Stiles’ fault he’s in better shape.

“That was amazing,” Derek says, and then rolls off of Stiles. He’s pretty heavy so Stiles doesn’t protest too much. Plus he still has this spunk on his hands and he doesn’t want to like rub it on Derek. He probably needs a shower now. There’s a very high likelihood he can talk Derek into showering with him. Cool. Cool cool cool. 

“I’m gross now, dude,” Stiles says, after a second to breathe, “shower with me?”

Derek looks down his own body at the rest of the come and lube and sweat and agrees. 

“Hey look,” he does a jazz hands dance at Derek, “Jizz hands.” 

Derek sighs with fake exasperation. Stiles knows because he’s very familiar with Derek’s real exasperation. “Oh my god, why do I love you again?” 

“Something about my dick,” Stiles tells him, turning the shower on, “You mention it a lot, so that probably has something to do with it.”

“No, it has everything to do with it. I hate the rest of you,” Derek slaps his ass as he follows him into the shower. 

“Sure, Jan.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU GUYS! It's done. I started writing this in July of 2018. Thanks for all the kudos and screaming comments I got to wake up to in my inbox. It made getting up for work that much easier. 
> 
> If you're reading this way after the publishing date, hey what's up. I hope you liked my story. Please feel free to leave a comment and let me know--this will help my writing self esteem all year long. 
> 
> Feel free to come talk to me on tumblr at RachelScoops

They never get around to discussing how to tell Scott. After the round in the shower, the water bill is going to be exorbitant this month, and after the round on the couch, they were too exhausted to do much more talking. Well, emotional talking. Stiles rarely exists in a state outside of sleeping where his mouth is not constantly running. 

So when Scott walks in the next morning and they’re eating bacon in just their underwear, hickeys up and down Derek’s torso, it’s pretty obvious what happened.

“You weren’t filming were you?” Scott asks, looking around for cameras or lighting rods set to be returned.

“Nope,” Stiles says because Derek just took a big gulp of coffee, his face tomato red. “Just good old fashioned love making between two people deeply in love.” Derek then chokes on the coffee.

“You okay, butterfly?”

“Never call me that,” he gasps out. Scott looks torn between amusement and disgust. It’s a look that Stiles thinks he’ll be seeing a lot more of in the near future.

“Did I mention we’re in love?” Stiles calls over to Scott.

“You were pretty subtle, but luckily I’m a smart guy and fluent in Stiles-speak so I picked up on your subtext.”

“Oh good.”

Derek coughs again and finally looks like himself again. “Are you okay with this, Scott? We’re not like planning to break up or anything.”

“Yeah,” Stiles adds, grabbing Derek’s hand and threading their fingers together, “he’s kinda it for me, dude.”

“You guys don’t have to get my permission,” Scott says, coming to sit by them on the couch, “or convince me. Pretty sure I saw this coming a million miles away. At least since high school.”

“Really,?” Stiles says, “then why didn’t you tell me? I had no idea I was into Derek.”

“God, you’re the smartest dumb person I know,” Scott says lovingly and Derek snickers. 

Stiles squeezes his hand, “Hey, you’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I’m on the side of truth. Someone has to keep you accountable.”

“Good luck with that,” Scott says, “I’ve been doing it for years. I’m happy to pass over the torch.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. He can’t with the both of them. “Did I never mention my hatred for the Hales?”

“How dare you say that about my mom,” Derek laughs. “She’s an angel.”

“Okay okay, but for real Scott, this doesn’t bother you? Because we’re doing it either way and by ‘doing it’ I do mean that in all meanings of the phrase,” Scott and Derek both grimace, “but we don’t want you to be uncomfortable in your own home.”

Scott smiles and his eyes betray his affection for both of them, “I’m so happy for you guys. I always knew you were my brother, Stiles. Now you are for real.”

“Think we have to get married for that to be the case,” Derek says, bringing Stiles’ knuckles up his mouth so he can press a kiss to them.

Stiles feels his heart melt, “One day, man. I’ll lock you down one day.”

“You already have, my love.”

“Gross,” Scott says, “get a room.”

Stiles laughs again and it feels so freeing being with the two men he loves most in the world. If only his dad was here, he’d be complete. Melissa too. 

“I think Stiles and I should move into the big bedroom permanently,” Derek says and yeah, that’s a totally amazing idea, “and that way you can have the little bedroom and we don’t have to have the rota anymore.”

“You know,” Stiles adds, “for the couple days a week you actually stay here.”

Scott looks sheepish but agrees and they spend an hour moving all the proper clothes and items to the permanent living spaces. 

Other people slowly find out too. It’s not like Stiles is keeping it from people. In fact, part of him wants to throw one of their sex tapes onto the side of a building and let everyone know that Derek is his. But the rational side and the private side of his brain keep pointing out all the negatives to that plan. 

Stiles adjusts pretty quickly to being a bi-sexual man. Turns out it’s not much different from being straight except that now he goes home to his boyfriend with the perfect cock, and he occasionally finds a bicep attractive. He does do the mature thing and apologize to Derek about not taking his bisexuality seriously before all this began. He cringes now when he thinks about the things he would say to Derek, about how he would dismiss his attraction to women. After a long discussion about it, Derek helps Stiles realize that he probably was projecting his own denial of his bisexuality onto Derek. Stiles apologizes for that too and Derek charges him a blow job. Stiles happily pays and they call it all good. He then takes up the mantle of fighting against bi-erasure and starts a popular blog in which he likes to get into fights and cite a whole bunch of sources. Several people block him. 

Erica finds out about them at Starbucks. She takes one look at his face when he walks in and wolf whistles. Stiles thinks she’s more excited than he is that he and Derek are love-banging. 

Stiles agrees to give her partial credit. 

Derek’s students never find out. Or, they never find out from Derek and Stiles. There are no rules against grad students dating undergrads as long as they aren’t in positions of power over the undergrad, so there’s nothing like legally or morally wrong. Derek just feels more comfortable with his classes not knowing his personal life. Stiles understands and if any of his students find the porn they did, well, Stiles doesn’t mind taking their horny money.

There’s only a week before Christmas when they finally get together, so Stiles and Derek quietly decide to tell their parents in person. Stiles owes it to Melissa to tell her to her face she was right. He’s going to have to eat humble pie, but he’ll do that anytime for Derek. He owes his wake up call to Melissa. If she hadn’t said anything, they’d be stuck in that rut for much longer. Derek wouldn’t disrupt the status quo, and Stiles wouldn’t accept that he is attracted to men. 

One big heaping plate of humble pie, please. With a side of gratitude.

He’s not worried about his dad’s opinion. For one, his dad might like Derek more than anyone on the planet besides Stiles. For two, his dad was the first one to talk to Derek when he came out and asked him non invasive questions to get him to open up. 

Stiles’ dad knew more about Derek’s taste in guys than anyone else in the family. 

So Stiles is beyond sure that his dad will be thrilled for Stiles to be with Derek. Melissa already gave her blessing, but not directly to Derek. 

As usual, the three boys struggle with last minute gift ideas. Christmas comes at the same time every year, it’s not even one of those holidays where the dates change, like Thanksgiving or Easter, but somehow things get out of hand with finals and then suddenly they’re in a three person canoe up shit creek with no paddle.

At least this year they have a little porn money still coming in, even though they hadn’t put up a new video in weeks. Stiles wonders how long the residuals will last until they dwindle to cents and then to nothing. 

The day before they’re due to drive home, half the trunk packed with their stuff and the other half with part of their trove of gifts, Stiles hears Derek screech from the other side of the couch. He pauses the documentary and looks over at Derek who is staring at his phone. Okay, rude, this isn’t the most interesting documentary but they should be ripping it apart together, not playing on their phones.

Derek ignores Stiles’ glare, his face morphing into excitement. “Oh my god.” He looks over at Stiles and then back down at the phone like he needs to read it again to comprehend whatever it is. Like he doesn’t have a degree in the English language or whatever. 

“What,” Stiles bites, letting go of his annoyance because Derek’s starting to pique his interest.

“Stiles, you’re not going to believe it.”

“Well I definitely won’t if you don’t tell me,” he says, “what’s up?”

“I got it,” Derek says expectantly, like Stiles already knows what he’s talking about. To his credit, he is usually either a step ahead or behind. But in this case, Stiles is doing another dance. 

“Herpes? Dude, you should have warned me first before I let you stick your dick in me.”

“No, the job!”

Suddenly Stiles remembers the application Derek poured hours into, remembers editing it, remembers toasting Derek with their shitty PBR as he finally sent his application in. God that feels like years ago now, instead of months.

“The one with the Los Angeles Times? The copy writing gig? You got it?”

“Yeah, I interviewed when things were weird between us and then when I didn’t hear back that week I kinda forgot about it in the excitement of getting together with you.”

Stiles reaches across the couch to pull Derek into a hug, “Oh my god, that’s so amazing! You’re going to do so great. I’m so excited for you.”

“Stiles, they’re going to give me a salary and I can do it online, so like I don’t have to let the job interfere with my last semester here. I’m months early on my thesis, if I can finish it like over the break then I can focus on the job and then around Spring Break do a final editing spree and yeah,” Derek runs a hand through his hair and there’s a ribbon of relief between them. For all the work and heartache and awkwardness, the porn was actually pretty lucrative towards the end. This will allow some room to breathe. “I can’t believe it’s all coming together.”

“It does feel like things are starting to fall into place, huh?”

Derek pulls Stiles close again and gives him a noogie, like they’re pre-teens again and not in their twenties. “Seems like a sign I’m headed in the right direction. Good job, good lay…”

“Hey,” Stiles protests, “I’m more than a good lay.”

“You’re a great lay, sweetie.”

“You fucker. I’m a fantastic lay.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too. I’m so proud of you.”

Scott doesn’t come home that night, not that Derek or Stiles notice. 


End file.
